


Grand Prix

by kittymills



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Car Racing, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Minor Allura/Lance (Voltron), Misunderstandings, Modern AU, Modern Setting, Mutual Pining, Racing Accident, SHEITH - Freeform, Smut, car racing, i've been told this is a-ok to read even if you're not a fan of racing, its all about the characters, oh my god they were teammates, team voltron - Freeform, teammates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 16:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15077159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymills/pseuds/kittymills
Summary: Keith's been working towards the championship his entire life and he's well on his way, thanks to Team Voltron. When his teammate and reigning World Champion is injured in a devastating crash, it falls on Keith to lead the team but he's struggling to even stay on the track.Haunted by his past and hunted by his future, Keith is under pressure to follow in Shiro’s footsteps to secure another victory for Team Voltron.But maybe some things are more important than winning.[PLAYLIST]





	Grand Prix

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lasersheith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasersheith/gifts), [Seiteki9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seiteki9/gifts), [kenobrea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenobrea/gifts), [Rubyneko5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubyneko5/gifts).



> Season 6 really messed me up and I've had this Formula 1 AU rattling around in my head for a while so it was a good time to channel my s6 emotions and combine two of my most favourite things ever (F1 and Voltron).
> 
> If you're not familiar with F1 Racing, I humbly suggest checking out either [THIS](https://youtu.be/cDvux_FuoJ0) or [THIS](https://youtu.be/6Mf56yXR00E) or even [THIS](https://youtu.be/WeVIK8zZ-e0) vid to give you a vibe of what it's all about (the crashes, drama etc - or just check them out in general anyway, they're pretty awesome) BUT!! I've been told that you don't need to be a fan or even interested in racing to still enjoy this fic (which makes me so happy because that was my goal, lol)

 

 

[Art by mondaijo](http://mondaijo.tumblr.com/post/176531237199/he-doesnt-really-ask-it-expecting-an-answer-but)

* * *

 

The dawn of the new racing season starts long before the first race of the calendar.

Keith counts down the days until testing starts, until he can finally get out of the simulator and back onto the track.

“You really should have spent more of your time off on something productive,” Allura tells him with a frown when he shows up, helmet in hand and race suit on. It’s barely dawn, the rest of their team of engineers and mechanics are still stumbling in. They aren’t due for their first briefing for a few hours yet but everyone seems to be keen to get back to work despite what happened in the final few races of last season.

Keith lays his helmet on the table.  “Funny, I could say the same thing to you.”

Allura chuckles delicately.  “No, I’m afraid not. A team principle’s work is never done apparently.”

She slides over a coffee cup and gestures to the brewing pot on the shelf behind him.  He half smiles to himself as he goes to fill it. He collects one for himself while he’s at it.

“Has there been any news?” he asks when he takes a seat opposite her.

Allura nods her head. It makes her earing swish against the elegant column of her throat. Allura is beautiful, silver locks draped against rich dark skin and turquoise eyes that are full of blue fire.  She’s been the team principle of Team Voltron since Keith’s first day. Since his first day off the junior circuits and straight into the big leagues along side the current reigning world champion Takashi Shirogane. The team quickly fell into its zenith, enjoying unprecedented success riding on the backs and talent of both drivers and an exceptionally bright engineering team. 

Sponsors clamoured to add their names to the Voltron brand, the money poured in. Kogane and Shirogane became house hold names.

Then, on the pop of a tyre and a hail of screeching metal, everything changed.

“About your new teammate? Yes, actually.”

Keith immediately goes still. It wasn’t actually what he was asking about but he should have realised this would be at the forefront of the team’s mind.

A new teammate? Hell, of course. He’d known this was coming. He’d known that the standard line up for all teams for were two drivers in each race.  He knew they would have to replace Shiro before the season started but he was still unprepared for the harsh, searing pain that reached inside his chest and curled it’s claws around his heart.

He swallows and tries to sound nonchalant. It just hurts instead.

“Oh, yeah? So, who is it?”

Allura’s gaze flickers away. Keith experiences a wave of dread. Whoever it is, he’s not going to take it well, but there were some that would be easier to work with than others.

“Lance McClain.”

The name registers somewhere in the back of his mind, like it should mean something but it fails to bring forth a memory.  “Who?” 

Allura’s eyebrows raise up and her mouth quirks. It might have been a smile if they both weren’t so heartsore. “Really? You went through Altea driving academy together.”

At Keith’s blank expression, Allura frowns and flips through her tablet. “Here,” she says, sliding it across the table.

Keith doesn’t want to look. He doesn’t want this to be real. Was it really happening? Were they really replacing Shiro?

At his hesitation, Allura curves her palm over the back of his hand. Those turquoise eyes sparkle and it takes a moment for him to realise it’s from tears.  “I miss him too,” she says softly. “But if the team is to move forward, it has to be done.”

Keith bites the inside of his cheek so hard he can taste blood.  She’s right, he knows she is. It just still hurts so much he can barely breathe.

Allura gives him a nod and Keith draws a breath. It fills his lungs and expands his chest before he releases it on an exhale and he determinedly takes the tablet.

Lance’s face looks back at him. It’s familiar in a way Keith knows he’s seen him around the tracks, probably even raced against him before but there’s not much more than that. He’s a lean figure, blue eyes and deeply tanned skin with shiny chestnut hair that curls slightly against his scalp. He’s got a smirk on his face that Keith knows will be popular with the fans but he ignores all of that in favour of checking out Lance’s stats and racing history.

Keith’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Shit, he’s good.”

“He’s very good,” Allura assures him. “Not quite to yours or Shiro’s standard but anything he lacks in speed he more than makes up in personality.”

Keith isn’t sure he likes the sound of that. Personality was often just a polite way to call someone a loudmouth. He hopes Lance isn’t going to be like other drivers on the grid, so concerned with trying to curry favour with the fans that their skill on the track left far too much to be desired.

Because that’s when accidents happened.

 

* * *

 

_The hospital is cold and sterile but at least it’s quiet inside this private room._

_Quiet, save for the steady beep of Shiro’s heart rate monitor. Keith watches the line, strong and steady as it rises and falls on the monitor._

_It’s infinitely better than looking at who lies on the bed._

_The TV plays quietly overhead, flicking to a news channel before Keith can fumble for the remote.  The captions scroll across the screen, catching his gaze unwillingly and Keith suddenly can’t look away._

_“Who caused the crash? Was it a racing incident? Or was it Kogane’s impulsive actions that shunted his teammate into the wall and caused that horror, horro-”_

_It wasn’t right. This wasn’t right.  He shouldn’t be here._

_Keith feels the sob clawing its way up his chest again, he feels the tears welling in his eyes. But they aren’t enough to blur the scene in front of him. Not enough to hide the empty space where Shiro’s arm should be._

 

* * *

 

“Nice, nice, very nice!”

Lance circles the new season’s car, it’s low and squat with fat tires. He’s already wearing the black and white livery of Team Voltron and the sight of it makes Keith’s skin itch. A voice inside him snarls and screams and writhes at the _wrongness_ of it.

“Can we just get out on the track already?” Keith has his arms crossed over his chest. His voice is dull enough that Allura shoots him a look.

 _Play nice,_ she seems to be saying.

“What’s the rush, Keith? We should talk a little, get to know each other. We’re teammates now.”

Lance seems friendly enough. Sort of loud. Kind of opinionated. Keith wonders how he’s going to cope going toe to toe with their team’s strategist and head technical director Pidge. She wasn’t one to suffer fools lightly and she won’t hesitate to put Lance in his place.

On second thoughts, maybe that would be entertaining to watch.

“It’s been four months, I just want to get back on track and check the new upgrades Pidge and Hunk have installed.”

“You’ll have your chance soon enough,” a new voice adds.  It’s silky and cool and never fails to make his hair stand on end. Lotor walks casually to Allura’s side and slips an arm around her waist. The kiss he presses to her cheek seems functionary and distant despite their close contact.

“Lotor,” Allura says and her eyes get tight. It’s hard for Keith to watch. There’s no love in that marriage. “This is our new driver, Lance McClain.”

“Ah,” Lotor doesn’t offer his hand. He barely even acknowledges Lance. “It cost us a pretty penny to buy out the rest of your contract with your previous team,” Lotor says. He flicks his gaze over the car once before turning on his heel. “I do hope you’re worth the cost.”

Lance sticks his hands on his hips and frowns as Lotor walks away. “Well, that guy seems like a dick. Who is he?”

Allura looks away and her shoulders curve in. “My husband.”

“Your-“ Lance blinks and an expression crosses his face that Keith can’t quite read. Lance seems to recover easily enough though and he sidles away from the car and to Allura’s side, cheerfully spouting some nonsense that draws away the crease between her brows. He charms her enough that she laughs and takes his offered arm and they walk off together.

Keith stares at the car. It looks… different, somehow.  Still the sleek, vicious lines of a racer capable of breakneck speeds, still splashed in Team Voltron’s signature black and white livery, just like their race suits. The sponsor names sit amongst the glossy surface, each one a reminder of the obligation Keith has to them to _win, win, win!_

It takes him a good, long minute before it clicks.

The neon stripe signifying his position as the number two driver in the team was gone. Nothing but the signature black there instead. The implication makes him sag weakly against the chassis, and he reaches for the side for support.

He was the principle driver now. He was the team leader. 

 _He_ was Shiro’s replacement.

 

* * *

 

_It’s late._

_The racing simulator rocks on its hydraulics as Keith pushes it around the digital track, pushing ever faster, ever harder. He opens up the throttle and skirts the edge of the racing line but not close enough, collecting gravel as he goes. The simulated car spins out and he halts the simulation with a quite curse under his breath._

_“Hey, rookie.”_

_He looks up, noticing for the first time the looming figure beside the simulators cockpit. The smile breaks out wide and pleased despite his failure. His heart thuds happily in his chest._

_“Hi, champ,” he grins._

_Shiro laughs softly. “You’re well out of curfew you know. Allura will have your ass if any of the stewards bust you.”_

_“So are you,” Keith replies. He braces his hands on the side of the cockpit and leverages himself out.  He drops to the polished cement with a light bounce._

_“Came to check on those telemetries you pulled today.”_

_“Telemetries, huh? Is that what you’re calling it now,” Keith teases. He stays far enough out of reach that Shiro takes a step towards him._

_“I need to know where you keep picking up the extra time. Your lap times were phenomenal today.”_

_It’s hard not to preen under the very real admiration in Shiro’s gaze. Keith shrugs, trying to look casual but the effect is ruined by the wide grin of pleasure on his face._

_“Are you worried about your title? Worried the rookie is going to usurp you?”_

_Shiro grins back at him. “Not worried, in fact I’m counting on it. Although with three years of racing under your belt, you’re hardly a rookie anymore.”_

_“Guess not,” Keith muses._

_Shiro takes a step closer and the mood between them instantly changes when Shiro crowds him back against the simulator. The digital screens displaying fake racetracks are the only illumination in the room. Stripes of colour wash over their skin. Keith looks up at the man in front of him from under his hair. The dark heat in Shiro’s grey eyes is unmistakable and Keith feels the answering heat start to lick higher in himself. This time, it’s him that moves, stepping into Shiro’s space and looping an arm around the taller man’s neck. He tugs Shiro down slightly and brushes their noses together._

_“You know they can’t find out about this,” Shiro whispers. His breath is warm on Keith’s cheek and his wide hands settle against Keith’s hips. “The press would have a field day.”_

_“Gonna cut me loose then, champion?” Keith murmurs against Shiro’s lips. There’s fire in his blood and his whole body aches. He presses himself tighter against Shiro’s frame. He tells himself he’s searching for Shiro’s heat but he’s hoping for reassurance instead._

_“You still have far too much to learn for that, rookie.”_

 

* * *

Allura watches them take to the track for the first time and it’s enough of a disaster to leave her filled with dread for the racing year ahead.  The Keith of this season is belligerent and uncooperative and Lance pokes at gleefully him like he’s taunting a bear trapped in a cage.  On their first run, they match their pace easily. Too easily and they come close enough to colliding in a spray of smashed carbon fibre panels that has Allura’s heart climbing up her throat.

How were they going to do this? How could they take on this season without Shiro and retain the championship?

Pidge sighs at her side. The monitors in front of her spew out an array of technical readouts that Allura can barely follow even on the best of days. The science of the sport was well beyond her most basic levels but she trusted Pidge enough to know that anything that could be done to add speed and resilience to the cars, would be done.

And anything that Pidge might miss, Hunk would be sure to catch.

“They’re going to kill each other if they keep this up,” Pidge comments flatly.

Allura’s ears ring with the curses and taunts from the two drivers out on track.  It’s their first day and she already has a headache.

_“What’s the matter, mullet, you scared?”_

_“Shut up and drive, asshole.”_

_“Oh, so that’s how you want to play it?”_

It’s almost too fast for her eyes to register but Lance gains enough on Keith that he slips ahead, feinting his car to one side as Keith tries to attack then firmly shutting the door. He breaks hard enough that Keith needs to jerk to the left to avoid contact between the cars and promptly spins out in the gravel.

Lance cackles in her ear but it’s drowned out by the sound of Keith’s swearing.

“Well, that’s not good,” Pidge gives Allura a sideways glance. “Keith hasn’t made a mistake like that and spun out like that in years.”

“He also hasn’t had a teammate as cocky as Lance before. He already seems to know exactly what buttons to push to get Keith on the edge.”

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “Yeah,” she huffs then mutters under her breath, “because the fact he thinks he almost killed his boyfriend last season has nothing to do with it.”

Allura doesn’t reply to that. How could she? She watches the cars streak past on a roar of sound.

The thought curls through her mind with insidious intent. Perhaps Keith wasn’t ready for this after all.

 

* * *

 

_His hair is plastered to his forehead from sweat but Shiro’s isn’t much better. They’re in the team garage, side by side as the team of mechanics, engineers and pit crew swarm around their cars. Pidge and Hunk bark orders and Allura stands to the side and snaps harshly into the phone she holds at her ear._

_“Hey, you paying attention?”_

_Keith tears his gaze away and back towards the review on screen. The first free practice session had gone well, but not well enough for Shiro’s satisfaction. Keith was fast, but not fast enough and he was too far down the grid to be able to provide Shiro the support he needs. Support, or just his own shot at going for a win._

_“Yeah, I’m listening.”_

_“Good,” Shiro pauses, eyeing Keith closely. “Look, I’m not trying to undermine you here. You’ve got the talent and you’ve got the speed, but Allura plucked you straight out of junior categories and shoved you into one of the top tier teams on the grid.  You haven’t had to work you way up the field in shitty teams driving shittier cars-“_

_“Like you had to?” Keith cuts in. He’s slightly annoyed. Yeah, it was his first season in the big leagues but the pond he previously swam in wasn’t really that much smaller. And it wasn’t his fault he’d been chosen for a prestige team right off the bat._

_Shiro frowns. He folds his arms across his chest and tilts his head. He’s a good-looking guy, strong hints of Asian heritage like Keith’s own, rich dark hair and an enviable jawline. He’s taller than the average driver and his extra mass means he needs to stay lean to offset the weight of his car._

_But it’s his eyes that catch Keith’s attention. Dark silver like gunmetal, like the unpainted chassis of a newly minted racer._

_“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing but there’s more to being a good driver than fastest lap times. You need to be able to read your opponents, read the gaps in the traffic. Know when to lift, or drive harder and you only learn those skills by scrapping at the back of the pack.”_

_“Where the stakes aren’t so high and no one actually expects you to win.”_

_Shiro grins at that. A flush of something warm curls inside him at the sight but he squashes it down with a ruthless shove. He wants Shiro to be his equal, not his mentor._

_“Yeah,” Shiro grins. “You probably won’t get too much of that chance. You’ll be at the front of the grid with me.  If-“ and Shiro pauses again. He turns to look at the readouts on the screen.  “- you can learn some self-discipline.”_

_It takes a second for it to register and Keith immediately arks up. “What the hell-“_

_“Settle down,” Shiro lays a hand on his shoulder and something about the touch makes his soul sizzle and he blinks. “I only mean that you’re a little impulsive, a little eager. You need to watch that. These things are closer to jets than cars, it will only take one wrong move to send you smashing into a wall at a few hundred kilometres an hour. Safety standards in these cars are incredible but it’s still a crash you might not walk away from.”_

_Keith wants to snort at that. He’s been racing since he was able to walk, the dangers of the sport are nothing new. But Shiro seems earnest. As the new comer to the team, Keith could easily have been shunted into second place, coming off second best in all the new parts, all the strategies but Shiro wants to treat him like an equal._

_The man was already a world champion three times over. What did he have to fear from Keith? Best to learn all he could while Shiro still felt inclined to share._

_“What do you suggest then, champ?” Keith throws it out like a little challenge, like a little dig and Shiro catches it with the slightest narrowing of his eyes. Then he smirks and Keith finds himself answering in kind._

_“Well, rookie, something that always helps me to remember is patience yields focus.  You should try it some time.”_

 

* * *

The first race of the season has the team on another continent, away from the comforts of home, away from the hospital where Shiro continues with the gruelling rounds of physical therapy. He doesn’t remember much of the crash or the weeks that followed. His last memory is of signalling to the team that his tyres were beginning to fail and he wanted to back off and let Keith leap frog into the lead. 

Anything after that was a blur.

“That’s it Takashi,” the therapist says as he works through the exercises with his new metallic arm.  It’s heavy on his lean frame, the pull of it makes it feel like he’s forever listing sideways. He half wonders if he should have bothered with the state of the art prototype Marmora Tech had offered him. It wouldn’t get him racing again, but it might go a step towards making him the man he was before the crash.

The session ends with Shiro shaky and sweaty and he waves off the therapist long enough to catch his breath. He’s not sure he ever will though, not when his eyes travel across the room to the large TV screen attached to the wall.  The sound is muted but he can see the faces of this season’s new driver line up on the screen.

Some he recognizes. Some he doesn’t. One he loves and hasn’t seen in person or heard from since the day he almost died.

 

* * *

 

_One thing Keith never got to do in the junior categories was travel to all the international races via a private jet. It felt overtly luxurious at first, a useless excess when commercial flights worked just as well but sitting in the small but opulently appointed jet in plush seats, his ankle resting against Shiro’s as they stared at each other, Keith admitted he didn’t want it any other way._

_They were alone at this end of the plane. Towards the front, Allura was already asleep, an eye mask over her eyes and fuzzy slippers on her feet.  On the other side of her, Pidge had her laptop open, headphones on and the light of her screen reflecting on her glasses as she diligently worked on some wonderous new addition to their cars.  In the next row, Hunk was passed out, drooling with a strange snuffle and the odd hiccup that has Shiro laughing quietly._

_“Don’t you wish you could sleep like that?” he says. Keith grins._

_“It’d be nice to be that comfortable. I still find all the different time zones kind of confusing.”_

_“Yeah, it’s hell on the body clock,” Shiro replies. He stares at Keith with a warm gaze and Keith feels the heat steal across his cheeks. The interest there was unmistakable. There was a spark between them that thrived both on and off the track. A spark, but a warm and comfortable friendship too._

_Shiro knocks his ankle with his boot again, a move too deliberate to be anything casual._

_“Get some sleep, rookie.”_

 

* * *

 

The rain drizzling over the track matched Allura’s mood as she makes her way across the pavement and into one of the many VIP tents where she would be expected to schmooze alongside the drivers.

Their first race of the season had gone as well as can be expected.  They’d managed to secure a win, but it was Lance that stood atop the podium for the first time, smiling wide for the flashing cameras as he held the trophy aloft. Lance’s skill in wet weather conditions was legendary and the team knew Lance would be a top contender for the victory. They had all but expected it.

Keith’s complete and utter meltdown, they had not.

Allura sighs as she steps into to the tent, blinking against the bright rows of sparkling lights that string across the ceiling and the throng of people talking and laughing, a mix of well off spectators, sponsors and members of the various teams, everyone dressed to the nines to impress and awe.

Just the thought of it made her tired and coming hot off the bat with her confrontation with the stewards over Keith’s flagrant and sudden disregard for team orders, she wondered if she was really up for the social games that came into play whenever she was cornered by smarmy sponsors or over eager journalists.

But it was part of the sport and part of her responsibilities as the Team Principle so she squares her shoulders and makes a bee line straight for the bar. Maybe with a glass in her hand she would be less likely to cut her own palms open with the sharpness of her fingernails.

“Champagne?” the bar tender smiles at her, holding out a prefilled glass. It wouldn’t have been her first choice but they’d won today. In part.  One driver out on top, the other stewing in the wreckage of hit against the wall. 

They had won, and it would be anticipated of her to at least look happy about it. 

“Yes, please,” she says as she accepts the drink and turns to lean against the bar. Experience told her there wasn’t a need for her to move. She was well known and well respected enough around the tracks to know that the vultures would come swarming to her.  She didn’t need to chase them.

Growing up as the only child of one of the sports main founders had its perks.  She’d grown up in this arena, the smell of burnt rubber and the fuel fumes as familiar to her as her mother’s perfume. She had grown up along side drivers, watching from the sidelines longing as they began their careers in carts and steadily moving up the ranks of her father’s racing academy. She hadn’t been permitted to race herself, even though she longed to.  But securing a team and managing it with poise and humility and a good, healthy dose of determination was something she could do.

She is still silently musing when a voice carries to her and she glances up to trace the sound of the familiar laugh.  It’s their new driver, not too far away against one side of the tent wall, a bevy of beautiful women (and a few men) surrounding him.  He’s a star in the spotlight, laughing brightly and accepting the well wishes and congratulations with an air that was as far away from humility as possible.

Lance was a good driver, and he knew it.

A little pang sits against the inside of her breastbone. Shiro wasn’t like that. Shiro was kind and reserved, humble in his wins.  He had a talent that hadn’t been seen in a lifetime on the track, but unlike Lance, he didn’t have the ego to match it. Shiro had been fast and lethal, driving with a deadly precision that cut away opponents before they had even had a chance to understand the threat he posed.

And at the end, when the race was won, he smiled and he was warm and he gave every fan and sponsor and teammate the sense that it was really them who had won, and not Shiro at all.

She missed him.

She tears her gaze away from Lance and finds herself face to face with Keith and it’s an effort not to blink in surprise. She hadn’t expected to see him here, despite it being one of the driver obligations.  She knew Keith and Shiro had both hated the forced social graces after they’d both endured a long and exhausting race weekend and she had been prepared to let this one slide after the shunt Keith had received.  The fact he was here, dark hair mussed over his eyes and styled in a way that made him look as though he’d stepped right out of a GQ catalogue, gave her a lump at the back of her throat. Another thing he hated, but that he endured because he wanted to race.

But without Shiro, she privately wondered if he even wanted to do that anymore.

“Keith, I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Pidge made me come,” he says with a downturned smile.  He eyes the champagne glass in her hand.

“Don’t judge. We did win today, after all.”

“No thanks to Lance,” Keith mutters darkly.  He’s been a walking thundercloud since they’d come back from pre-season testing and she knew he wasn’t gelling with Lance the way he had with Shiro, but it was draining watching him flagellate himself with every word and moment that passes. She was tired of it.

“Actually,” she says icily, “It was every thanks to Lance. You lost your cool and aquaplaned across half the circuit.”

“Hunk gave me the wrong tyres-“

“Don’t you dare,” she cuts him off with a harsh snap. He freezes under her intensity, his eyes slightly wide in surprise.  Allura glances quickly around, hoping none of the other guests were paying attention to the little scene that was about to unfold and thankfully none were. It’s an effort to swallow down her anger.  For the second time that night, she straightens her spine and lifts her chin. She drops her voice somewhere in the range of mild and _don’t piss me off_.

Keith gets the message quickly, but then he was always smart.

“Don’t you dare pin your failure on the team,” she says again. This time she’s icy calm. “You had every opportunity to take the win or secure a place on the podium but it was only your own reckless behaviour that prevented you from doing so. You ignored team orders and you cost us not only a podium place but points too. You didn’t finish the race and that cost the _entire_ team.”

His knuckles around the stem of his glass go white. If she didn’t know him better, she would be stepping back under the threat of being hit. He wouldn’t dare, but that wasn’t to say he wasn’t vividly imagining a way to physically release his anger in his head.

“Are you finished?”

She narrows her eyes at him. Not even an apology. Not even a hint of remorse. Keith had spiralled today and he seemed determined to take the entire team with him.

“I’m haven’t even started,” she states quietly, steel in her voice.

Keith’s expression shutters. He drains his glass and slams it a little too hard on the bar, causing a few people nearby to look up expectantly. Allura manages to keep her expression pleasantly bland but her eyes spark and Keith’s answer in kind.

“Have a good night, boss,” he says. There’s no mistaking the faint mocking in his tone but he’s turned on his heel and melted into the crowd before she can bring herself to formulate a response.

 

* * *

 

Lance keeps one eye on her throughout the night. He’s kept one eye on her since he was just a kid racing in go carts before he’d hit the academy her father ran. He’d had no idea who she was at the time, the memory of the silver haired young girl with her long limbs and beautiful eyes haunted him throughout his youth. He’d thought she was maybe the sister of one of the other drivers, visiting for the weekend when he’d seen her staring at his cart longingly. She had disappeared long before he could get her name but the memory of her face was something he held onto in his mind.

And then years later, like magic, he’d found her again.

An over enthusiastic fan throws her arm around his neck, dragging him down for a selfie. He gives the obligatory smile and wave, signs her program but finds himself baulking at signing her breasts so he gives her one last smile and excuses himself.

He liked the attention most nights. Most nights he revelled in it and there was rarely any shortage of adoring fans or bed mates. It was one of the best things about his chosen career. Fast cars, fast money and fast girls. What more could he want?

Allura, apparently.

He loses sight of her in the crowd, only to pop his head outside the tent and spy her in the distance, throwing an arm up and using her pitiful excuse of a handbag to shield herself from the drizzle. It doesn’t do much, already her bare shoulders in her pale pink dress were sparkling in the moonlight from the rain drops. Lance wastes no time snatching one of the umbrellas leaning against the tent entrance and striding out into the night. 

He reaches her just as she stumbles.

“Oh,” she gasps as he slips an arm around her waist and steadies her.

“Are you falling for me, princess?” he grins. He moves the umbrella with his other arm so it’s shading both of them from the drizzle. It’s a warm night but he’s sure he feels her tremble.

“Don’t call me that,” she huffs, righting herself and nudging him away. He releases her without effort and tries not to laugh as she lifts up one heel and sighs dramatically at the mud coating it.

“They always say Alfor is the king of this sport, so then that makes you the princess. Sorry,” he shrugs. “I don’t make the rules.”

She shakes her head at him but the scowl that had been marring those beautiful features all night eases. She wobbles slightly on one foot and he steps close enough that she grabs a fistful of his jacket to balance herself as she yanks the other heel out of the mud. He reaches out to steady her again.

She’s beautiful, the sort of beauty that crept inside his soul and would forever be the benchmark to all other women in his life would need to measure up to. But she was intelligent and capable too, the way she leads the team thrums with respect and admiration. The entire team loved her, they swore by her and Lance had never worked with a team that so obviously worked as… well, a team.  Each member of team Voltron had their part, each one worked tirelessly towards a common goal. There were rivalries with the group, sure, but not like on his previous team where he’d had to constantly watch his back and double and triple check everything he did.

She was warm in his arms, all smooth dark skin and pale blue sapphire eyes. And god, she smelt amazing.

“Lance,” she says softly, a hint of amusement in her voice. “You can let go of me now.”

“Hmm? Oh,” he laughs as he releases her. She’s taken her heels off and now she’s barefoot in the mud. “Ah, was that a good idea?”

She shrugs and ducks over to the path, letting the mud wash away from the drizzle and continues walking. He has to rush to catch up.

She doesn’t acknowledge him when he slides the umbrella over their heads again. He offers her his arm with a smile and she takes it with a light shrug. The entire team is based in the same hotel so he knows where they’re walking to.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asks after moment. They pass other people on the path, giving nods in greeting as they stroll along.  Allura stops long enough to slide her heels back on and the extra height means she’s almost taller than him with them on.

“Remember you? What do you mean?”

Lance finds himself smiling at the memory. Wouldn’t eleven-year-old him be over the moon to see where he was right now. Not just as a driver for one of the current top tier teams in the sport, but also with the woman of his dreams.

“We were kids, you were visiting the academy and you took a liking to my cart. Even took it for a spin.”

Her walk slows until she stops all together. He can see the expressions flitter over her face as she recalls the memory.

“Old Blue,” she gasps suddenly and he grins in delight.

“Yeah! Oh, man. I miss that cart.”

“That was you?” she says in wonder.

“Yep. Remember how much trouble I got into?”

“Oh, yes,” Allura laughs softly. “I suppose I should apologise for that.”

“It was worth it,” he laughs. The next time they look up, they’re standing in front of their team’s garage.  Already the mechanics and engineers were packing up, loading up the mountains of equipment and preparing the cars to slide into their specialised crates for loading onto the cargo planes in readiness for their next race on the next continent.  They were due to fly out tomorrow morning and Lance wonders if he might be able to snag a seat next to Allura on the plane.

They pause outside, turning to face each other.  Allura’s cheeks look almost pink and Lance feels his heart flip flop in his chest. Oh, no. She’s going to ruin him for other women. He feels that fact settle into his bones.

“Well, I suppose I should let you-“

“I had better-“

They laugh as they talk at the same time. He really doesn’t want to walk away. His gaze drops to her lips and the errant thought slides though. He wonders what she would taste like, would she be as sweet as he imagined. He’s almost contemplating it when he catches a flash of the huge diamond on her finger and remembers she’s married and well out of his league anyway.

“Good night, Allura,” he says softly instead.

 

* * *

 

Keith can’t sleep.

After storming from the VIP tent, he stalked through the paddock back to the team garage thinking he’ll use the time to go over the stats and reviews of the race today but when he gets there he’s in a fowl enough mood he can’t bear to be there and Pidge is glaring at him hard enough he’s not interested in another lecture.

The day had been a disaster. His first race back of the season and the pressure was on. Pressure to lead the team, to perform, to secure a win, to make sure Lance knew exactly where he stood in the new pecking order.

But it hadn’t gone that way at all. He’d ignored the team directives and crashed out as a result. Stupid.

And then Lance had skated his way to a win through the rain and Keith was left to watch from the sidelines as someone else held that trophy aloft, as someone else wearing Shiro’s colours sprayed champagne all over the podium and was cheered and lorded about as the new winner.

He doesn’t know if he can do this. Not without Shiro. Not without Shiro who was hungry enough on the track to push him harder and faster than he could ever go, but not too hungry that he couldn’t see the win for his ego.

It was like… it was like he knew. Like he knew his days at the top were numbered and he wanted Keith to take his place.

Except that Keith wasn’t sure he was worthy of it.

 

* * *

 

_The sweat matts against his back as he grips the steering wheel tightly in his hands even as the harsh G forces press him into his seat. He can make out the outline of Shiro’s car ahead of him and Allura’s voice is in his ear coaxing him as they tear around the next turn. Their cars are similar, match for match in parts and weight and upgrades but Shiro has the fresher tyres and clean air so his speed is a valuable few seconds ahead of Keith’s._

_As it should be._

_They’re close now, so close to the end, on the final lap and all they need to do is stay in control to maintain the lead and then soon they’ll be steaking over the finish line in one-two positions, securing yet another haul of points for their team and another boost on the leaderboard for Shiro’s championship._

_They tear onto the main straight and even through the growl of the engine and his helmet, he can hear the roar of the crowd. The nearest team to catching them were miles away, and it’s just Shiro and himself hurtling towards the finish line and then they cross and the race is over._

_They’re hooting and shouting in their helmets, high on the win. They take the final lap, leading the cars into parc ferme, the secure area where the cars need to be parked and weighed ahead of the podium trophy presentations but Keith can’t resist the urge to flip his car into a wheelie, burning the rubber left on his tires and copping an earful of chiding from Allura in his ear.  It’s worth it to hear the crowd and the grin on his face is so wide it almost hurts._

_He slides his car into park in the number two position, grinning at Shiro already climbing out of his and waving and gesturing at the crowd from atop his machine. The mechanics and engineers from various teams press around the fringes, up against the fence line and with a final punch to the air, Shiro drops lightly to the ground and strides over, collecting as many of the team in his arms as they throw their arms around him, hugging him and tapping their congratulations onto his helmet._

_Keith lingers by his car, reattaching the steering wheel and giving the odd wave to the crowd. This part always feels so surreal. Thousands of people screaming and cheering and wanting their attention. He’s surprised when he realises it’s not just Shiro’s attention they want, they want his as well._

_He steps over to the fence, giving his thanks to the team in high fives and tight handshakes until he turns to Shiro standing behind him. It’s hard to see his eyes behind the visor but the hand he puts out is unmistakeable.  Keith reaches for it and Shiro yanks on it, pulling him into a hug and thumping him on the back. Then he steps back and grabs Keith’s head, clashing their helmets together lightly.  Keith can’t hear what he’s saying but he understands the sentiment clear enough._

_They did it, and they’ll keep doing it, until Shiro’s name is up in lights yet again at the end of the season._

 

* * *

The Friday night drivers briefing ahead of the race weekend is a long-time tradition, a chance for the entire line of drivers to converge in one room and air any grievances directly to the racing stewards before the next race. It’s a good chance to make contact with the other drivers, really just acquaintances at best but the closest things to friends Keith has with the constant travel and pressure of driving for an international sport.

They are mostly in a jovial mood and resplendent in their casual team wear, polos adorned with a litany of sponsors and a dash of team colours over jeans. Everything they wear has a purpose to pander to a sponsor, from the sunglasses on their heads to the timepieces around their wrists and even down to the drink they hold in their hands. It’s a carefully constructed image as they wander across the race paddock to the race headquarters, stopping occasionally along the fence line to sign and chat to the more hardcore fans.

Keith doesn’t mind this and he signs a few autographs and accepts the well wishes for a better race from a few people before trudging into the briefing room.

Lance is already there.

“Hey,” Keith greets him with a nod. He doesn’t have the energy in him to smile. Lance isn’t his friend, not like Shiro. He ends up taking one of the seats towards the back and Lance gives him a flat look before turning around and facing forward. 

When the room fills, the discussion goes immediately to the previous race and Keith finds himself trying to bite his tongue and failing when his clash against the wall comes up. The debris his car had scattered over the track had meant the deployment of a safety car for a number of laps and one of the other drives leans over to thump him lightly on the shoulder.

“Yeah, thanks for that one man, thought you were better than that.”

There’s laughter in the room.

“Too bad Shiro isn’t here to set you straight, huh?” another driver says.  She’s slim and mean looking, with sharp eyes that cut through you like ice. Keith has to clench the armrest of his chair until his knuckles turn white in order to stop himself responding.

“Oh, come on, give the guy a break,” and Keith’s brain stutters when he recognises the voice. There’s a shuffle, a murmur from the group then the air shifts as a figure flops down beside him. He’s wearing the same colours as Keith and he turns to eye Lance suspiciously.

“What are you doing?”

“Hey, man. We’re teammates now,” Lance says quietly. The conversation of the group moves on quickly under the guidance of the race marshal up the front. There’s talk about the new regulations in pit lane, minor track changes and media obligations the drivers need to adhere to but Keith only half listens. “I’ll have your back if you have mine.”

Keith glares at him. The only person who had his back was Shiro and he’s gone now.

 

* * *

 

_Allura yanks on his bow tie with a frown marring her lovely features. The tux itches in ways wholly unfamiliar to his race suit, but Keith figures it’s worth looking like some kind of penguin to see Shiro in one too._

_“Honestly, Keith. This bow tie is a mess. You’ve been to these events before, surely you’ve learned by now.”_

_Keith struggles not to catch Shiro’s eye over the edge of Allura’s shoulder. What she doesn’t know is that the bowtie had been previously immaculate, right up until Shiro had shoved him up against the back of the limo with greedy hands and a greedier mouth.  He’d tried to do the best he could in the dark but clearly his skill was lacking._

_Allura pats his shoulder once the damage to his bowtie has been repaired and when he’s once again presentable she turns and links her arms through his on one side and takes Shiro’s arm on her other._

_“Show time, gentleman. It’s been another wonderful year and I’m excited to see the hoard of trophies we’re going to be taking home.”_

_“So confident, Allura,” Shiro laughs as she leads them down the hallway. Plush carpet lines the floor until they reach a set of wide wooden doors, thrown open and revealing the buzz and chatter of a room full of tables inside.  On the far end lies a stage and on that stage lies a table littered with shiny silver trophies._

_Keith experiences a flutter of excitement in his gut. Rumour has it, one of those trophies has his name on it._

_Allura leads them to their table, a circular one that already has a few seats occupied by Pidge and Hunk and a cross looking Lotor.  He pointedly ignores both drivers and pulls the chair away enough for Allura to seat herself beside him. She’s stiff and straight backed and Keith often wonders what it is that Lotor says to her that makes her morph so quickly from the warm but driven team principle they know, to the rigid ice queen with a sharp tongue whenever she’s in his presence._

_They take their seats at the table, Shiro on one side of him and Pidge on his other. They’ve barely had a chance to accept their drinks before the speeches start._

_Keith tries to keep a lid on how many drinks he has but with each award announcement that comes up, he finds himself tensing. Shiro lays a hand on his shoulder at one point, leaning in to whisper against his ear. “Relax, you’re as high strung as an angry cat. Enjoy yourself.”_

_Easy for Shiro to say, his award for yet another world championship under his belt at the tender age of 25 is already gracing their table, sparkling in the low light from the tealight candles in the table centrepiece._

_“And now we have the award for Rookie driver of the year. This award is available to all drivers competing in their first racing season and this year we had a crop of very young and talented drivers to choose from. As voted by the racing public, this year’s award goes to-“_

_The sound of blood rushing in his ears drowns the world out enough that Shiro needs to nudge him._

_“That’s you, Keith. Get up there.”_

_Allura stands up, pulling him up with her. She gives him a kiss on his cheek and somehow that snaps him out of the daze he’s in and Shiro’s broad grin has him trying to contain his own proud little smile as he makes his way to the stage. The crowd claps and a few whistles even ring out and then he’s shaking the director’s hand as he hands Keith the trophy._

_Later in the night, Keith finds himself lining his trophy next to Shiro’s on the table. He’s slightly buzzed and high on the team’s achievements. He’s never been part of something so encompassing before and the light reflecting off the polished silver surfaces almost blinds him. Or maybe it was just the champagne._

_“That one’s gonna be mine next,” he points to Shiro’s trophy with a smirk and Shiro laughs. Shiro isn’t like some of the other drivers, curled around their own achievements and hissing at anyone who dares come close. Shiro is forever aware that his wins, his successes, come on the backs of others and he never lets the world forget it._

_No wonder they call him the gentleman champion._

_“Maybe one day,” Shiro responds easily. He leans back casually, unperturbed by Keith’s mild taunt and completely self-assured. “But not for a few years yet.”_

_“Maybe sooner than you expect,” Keith tries again. He wonders how far he has to push for Shiro to look at him as a threat. Yeah, he’s the rookie driver now but with a season behind them already, Shiro has got to know that Keith’s going to be coming for that title eventually._

_It’s what he’s there for after all._

 

* * *

A win under his belt has made Lance cocky, Allura thinks.

They’re barely out of the teething stage and already her drivers have egos she’s struggling to manage. In the team garage, Lance sidles up to Pidge, still trying to charm her into letting slip her plans for the newest upgrades to go on the cars but Pidge merely gives him a flat look over the top of her glasses.

Lance falters but where a saner man would know when to safely back away, Lance just digs himself a little deeper.

Allura would be amused if she wasn’t so damn annoyed.

“Lance,” she barks, holding back the flash of satisfaction when he jumps and fumbles, going for a casual lean against the garage workbench only to knock over a collection of tools and cringe when they clatter to the floor. 

“Allura! Uh, good morning. How… How are you?”

Pidge snickers darkly from behind him. “Nice save, lover boy,” she cackles under her breath.

Allura clutches the tablet to her chest and rubs at her temple. It was barely midmorning; the third free practice session had just finished and Keith was already in a bad mood and taking it out on everyone else around him. He was impossible this season, they needed Shiro back, just to keep Keith in line if nothing else. Lance, in comparison, was a literally ray of sunshine and she finds herself gravitating to the new driver far more often than she probably should.

“Lance,” she tries again, this time forcing a tight smile to her lips and making her voice a touch more pleasant. “Can you please join me in the briefing room? We’d like to go over our strategy for qualifying this afternoon.”

“We? You mean Keith and me and you’re there to make sure we don’t kill each other?”

Allura sighs. “Yes. Something like that.”

“Will, uh… will Lotor be joining us?”

The hedging way Lance says it makes her frown. “No, Lotor isn’t involved in the day to day running of the team.” No, he’d much rather sit on this gilded throne and throw orders out wherever he deigned to look.

“He just pays our bills,” Pidge adds. She’s got her nose stuck in her laptop eyeing a bunch of schematics as a repurposed Roomba rumbles along the ground towards her and Allura finds herself watching with bemusement as Pidge waits for it to click against her stool.  She picks it up and pucks the note attached to the top of it. She reads it quickly then yells across to the other side of the garage.  “No! You gotta double bank it!”

Everyone jumps when Hunk sticks his head around the corner. “What!” he demands. Pidge glares at him. “You’re crazy!”

Allura pinches her nose again when they start to argue and Lance strides over on lanky legs to take the tablet from her hands. She had been holding to her chest like a shield and she almost doesn’t let it go.

“You okay, Princess?” he asks her quietly and she can’t decide if she’s irritated or warmed by the sweetly casual way he uses the endearment. No one has called her anything so lovely in a long time.

“Yes, thank you, Lance. I’m just tired, it’s been a long morning.”

“Anything I can do?”

He looks so earnest she almost needs to look away, his race suit sleeves tied around his waist and the white undersuit littered with sponsor logos clings to him, maybe too tight to be strictly comfortable but it shows every lean line of his body in sharp relief.  She can’t deny it, he’s a very good-looking guy and his easy smile and humorous quips in front of the press are rumoured to have brought an entirely new wave of fans to the sport. He also has a reputation for a new track bunny at every race, and he had the quintessential playboy persona down to a fine art. 

Never the same woman twice.

Not that she was inclined to go down that path, she was married and too busy with her job as the team principle after all, she reminds herself sternly. She ignores the echo of another life and shoves aside the ache. She has a job to do and Lance is the one who’s going to help her achieve it.

She flips a lock of silver hair over her shoulder.

“Help me get through to Keith.”

 

* * *

 

_It’s been a long season and Keith loses track of what continent they’re on, even what city. It doesn’t matter anyway, all that matters is securing another win. The title is almost locked in and it’s so close that Keith can practically taste it._

_Shiro sits on the bed of another generic hotel room, in another generic hotel. He’s reading from the tablet in his hands and laughing so hard that tears are almost streaming down his face._

_“’Brother’, Keith? Really?”_

_“Hey, I panicked okay,” Keith protests with a groan. That interview wasn’t one of his finer moments. He hated dealing with the press, he always managed to say the wrong thing some time. At least Allura wouldn’t be able to yell at him about this one. He’d kept it tame by his usual standards. “They kept asking us if we were close, and just HOW close. I couldn’t exactly say ‘sure, close enough to have his dick up my ass’, could I?”_

_Shiro howls with laughter and falls backwards on the bed, the tablet discarded on a pillow. Keith’s pretty sure that the article he’d been reading wasn’t really that funny but they were celebrating another win. Alone. Just the two of them holed up in this hotel room after Shiro slyly begged off with a headache after the race and Keith followed ‘to make sure he got back to the hotel okay’.  Allura had given them both a look that indicated she wasn’t buying any of it but Keith was beyond caring. He was starting to resent the secrecy, but then again, he and Shiro had not really discussed exactly it was that they were._

_“You wait, next thing you know they’ll be calling us literal blood brothers because we’re both have Asian heritage-” Keith shakes his head._

_Shiro’s second bark of laughter makes him laugh then too. The warmth that rolls over him at the shared moment makes him wonder idly if this is what falling in love feels like._

_Did they even have room for that? There was a tribe of titles and trophies to their names, but was there any room for anything else?_

_Shiro catches his breath and the room gets quiet. Keith feels abruptly heavy, the champagne they had cracked open for their private celebration languishing on the table beside him. Shiro pushes himself upright and Keith dimly admires the way the lamplight plays against his perfectly formed muscles, shaped by hours of harsh training and a strict diet regime. He’s no slouch himself but Shiro is the literal definition of an Adonis and Keith could happily sit and gape at him for hours._

_“You just gonna sit there and stare at me all night?” Shiro questions, raising one eyebrow. The heated timbre of his voice makes the warmth curl in Keith’s gut. Keith grabs the champagne bottle in one hand, taking a swing directly from it as he rises from his seat and crosses the room. He swings one leg over and settles in Shiro’s lap, kissing down into his mouth with the taste of champagne still on his tongue._

_“That’s not very brotherly of you,” Shiro says when they pull away then he snickers at his own joke._

_“You ass,” Keith rolls his eyes and tries to get up, feigning annoyance. He doesn’t get far, Shiro curls an arm around his waist, locking him into place. Then he reaches for the champagne and drinks some himself, only to kiss Keith with the fizzy liquid still in his mouth._

_“Let me fuck you,” Shiro whispers imploringly when Keith manages to draw back for air. Their shirts are sticky and wet from the drink that dribbles down their chins._

_“It was my race win today,” Keith answers. He pushes the bottle away when he realises it’s empty and latches one hand in Shiro’s hair. He can feel the warm buzz of the alcohol in his veins and everything feels dreamy and relaxed. But there’s a hunger there too. An urgent need that climbs up his spine when he pulls Shiro’s head back and those heavy lidded grey eyes meet his. He takes a breath. “Maybe it’s my turn to fuck you?”_

_Shiro’s lips curve into a slow smile and he gives Keith one unhurried blink. “Show me what you’ve got, rookie.”_

 

__

  _([blessed art by mondaijo](https://mondainsfw.tumblr.com/post/176568837254/let-me-fuck-you-shiro-whispers-imploringly-when))_

* * *

Keith can’t be in this room a second longer. Not with the way Lance looks at him with such an expectant expression, or the vaguely disappointed look on Allura’s. It’s too much to process on top of his already aching heart.

“Allura, I’m not in the mood for a lecture right now.”

“Keith,” she sighs and she says it with enough concern and warmth it makes something prick at the back of his eyes. They were friends once, before the crash. She’d been caught in the middle of the fallout between himself and Shiro, trying so hard to stay neutral until she had stopped trying all together.

He couldn’t blame her. He was a fucking mess and he knew it. But fuck, why did she have to bring _him_ into it?

Lance watches them both with open speculation, like he’s still trying to work out the dynamic between them. Something about the way his nostrils flare slightly and his lips down turn makes Keith think he doesn’t appreciate what he sees. Allura starts to talk again and he forces himself to listen.

“I suppose what I’m trying to say is that the team needs you, Keith. Shiro was… he was irreplaceable, but we need to be able to do this without him. He would want that. He would want us to make him proud and carry on his legacy.”

“You make it sound like he’s dead!”

He clenches his fist and squeezes his eyes shut. He’s not sure if it’s to bank back the tears that have been lurking behind his eyes for days, or if he just can’t bear to see the looks on Lance and Allura’s faces. 

Shiro had almost died but he wasn’t dead. But he will never race again. He’ll never be whole again. And the entire world kept rotating and spinning on it’s axis as though the greatest injustice the universe had ever seen had not just happened.

Shiro hadn’t died, but something inside of Keith had.

 

* * *

 

_Keith hovers at the back of the audience of the television studio as Shiro is interviewed on the stage.  He looks good on the interview couch, comfortable in a fashionable black shirt with his collar popped and dark jeans that do incredible things to his ass. Keith is enjoying the interview; the host keeps it light and teasing and Shiro responds in kind. The camera loves him, the audience loves him._

_Keith loves him._

_“And your teammate, Keith?” the host asks Shiro. Keith’s ears prick up instantly at the mention of his name. “He’s won a few races of his own this season and word around the F1 paddock is that he’s going to be the next big thing. How do you feel about that?”_

_Shiro doesn’t look at the audience, even though he knows Keith is somewhere in it. “Look, I understand it. He’s one of the most passionate drivers on the grid and given that there’s only a handful of us who can do what we do and we’re all hungry for wins. With a teammate like Keith, you can’t rest on your laurels. But we work well together, he pushes me to keep fighting, to keep working hard. He’ll be a champion one day too.”_

_“But not too soon?” the host says with a grin._

_“No, not too soon, not if I can help it,” Shiro laughs. “I’m still too hungry to give up without a fight.”_

_“But surely that must cause friction within the team? How do you balance that friendship and that drive? Because you are, aren’t you? You’re very close friends?”_

_“Yes,” Shiro nods. “We are. Actually,” Shiro pauses and raises a hand to his eye, shielding the lights as he looks into the crowd. “He came with me today. He’s here in the crowd somewhere.”_

_Keith groans inwardly. No, damn you, Shiro._

_The TV host is delighted and the audience starts to whisper among themselves. “Is he now? Where are you, Keith? Come on up and join us.”_

_A camera makes its way through the audience to focus its shiny eye on him. He sighs and tries to force a smile to his face. Honestly, he should have waited in the green room until the interview, or better yet, not have come at all, but he’d been spinning his wheels after the last race loss and neither Allura or Shiro wanted him moping around the garage and Pidge had already threatened to kick him out of the workshop more than once._

_He walks reluctantly through the audience towards the stage, shaking the hosts hand as the host warmly welcomes him to the show. Shiro shuffles over on the couch, a smug, self-satisfied grin on his face as Keith is quickly fitted for a mic and he sits down, hunching forward under the weight of the attention turned on him._

_“Hi, rookie,” Shiro grins at him. He drapes an arm across the back of the couch, the very picture of casual elegance._

_Keith considers shooting him a glare but settles for rolling his eyes instead._

_The interview continues, a few questions about Keith’s mindset for the upcoming away races and how he deals with the pressure racing alongside the current world champion._

_“It’s not so hard,” Keith shrugs. Then he slides Shiro a calculating smirk that has the other man’s eyebrows shooting up. “As long as I keep letting him win.”_

_Shiro waves him away as the audience reacts with a loud “oohh,” and the host laughs enthusiastically. The interview devolves slightly after that but the host manages to keep it on track. Keith’s annoyed, he doesn’t enjoy the media spotlight, it was the biggest downside to the sport and Shiro knew that. Why did he have to go and drag Keith into it?_

_It’s not until later when they’re back in the car and under the cover of darkness that Shiro pulls him in for a kiss._

_“Sorry about dragging you into that,” he says._

_Keith scoffs but kisses him back. “No, you’re not.”_

 

* * *

 

The driver room on the track used to be a place of solitude. It was small, but well appointed, a minifridge to one side, a couch and a small tv. A narrow robe that contained their race suits. Pulling on the suit was like putting on armour, each layer would support and protect him through the long race ahead but it was this particular room that Keith didn’t feel right being in. Oh, he’d been in this small space before, many times, but always with Shiro sitting opposite him, a soft smile on his face or his brows snapped together in sharp concentration. This wasn’t his room, or… it wasn’t supposed to be. His was across the hall but just like they’d shuffled him into Shiro’s car and stuck Lance in his, they’d shuffled him into Shiro’s room too.

This used to be a safe space. A private space. They’d celebrated a win here once, Shiro dropping to his knees and pushing Keith back on the couch and fumbling with his race suit until his cock was out and in his mouth. Keith had bitten down on a sweaty glove as he’d poured himself down Shiro’s throat. It had been hard and fast and wild, the pit crew and the team just outside the door but Shiro had been high on adrenaline and Keith couldn’t say no even if he’d wanted to. 

But they’d also spent hours in here just talking. Going over the race analysis, track telemetries, dissecting every move and strategy until they understood the race and its outcome upside down and inside out. Shiro was strategically focused. He had a mind like an engineer, methodical in his planning and his driving, calm enough to read between passion and the fierce urge to win. Keith was the opposite, he reacted on instinct, listening to his gut and ignoring whatever data he decided he didn’t like.

They had been a good team.

He’s pulling on a fresh race suit when the shirt catches his eye. Too big to be one of his, languishing at the bottom of the pile. It looks like any other team Voltron shirt but this one felt worn and the design was from a previous year, a year that had been Shiro’s. Keith stares at it for a long moment, fingers itching to touch, to take. He indulges the notion of carrying it back to the hotel with him and sleeping in it until he remembers he lost that right. If he ever really had it in the first place.

He quietly shuts the door.

 

* * *

 

_At the dawn of a new season, Team Voltron has a ritual, Shiro tells him._

_The crew, the drivers, the engineers, the mechanics, the entire ensemble gathers around as the new livery is unveiled. Every year it’s slightly different but it’s always Voltron’s primary of black and white with shades of colour sprinkled about. This year, it’s red._

_“All right team, gather round!”_

_Shiro is up front with Allura at his side, hands on hips and laughing at the excitement of the small crowd.  Keith stands to the side. This is his first year with the team and he still feels a little like an interloper._

_As though Shiro hears those thoughts, he looks up and beckons Keith over. Keith slides a glance at the people around them and reminds himself they’re on his side now, but it’s still nerve wracking. He hopes his shaky legs aren’t obvious as he walks to Shiro’s side._

_Shiro pulls a race suit out of the box at his feet. It’s wrapped in plastic with Keith’s name emboldened across the top. He hands it to Keith with a grin._

_“Suit up, rookie.”_

 

* * *

 

“So, he’s a bit of a hothead, huh?” Lance comments as Keith storms from the team’s post-race debriefing, slamming the door behind him for good measure. The entire building quivers with the force of it.

Another race weekend, another fumbling start. Lance wasn’t playing nice anymore, rebuffed one too many times by Keith’s sullen attitude to go to too much trouble to appease his teammate in the garage or on the track. Lance is gunning for a title of his own and he’s scented blood in the water around Keith and like a shark, he’s circling, waiting to seize the advantage the moment his teammate makes a mistake.

And Keith has been making a lot of mistakes.

Allura doesn’t know how to handle this shaky dynamic between her drivers. It had been smooth sailing from day one with Keith and Shiro. They’d had their spats but they’d respected each other enough to work through their differences. Their friendship had existed in another realm, deeper than anything she’d ever seen between teammates before. They’d raced together, trained together, scrapped together, travelled together, ate together - they’d been inseparable.

She couldn’t blame Lance for pushing hard in this new team, and she didn’t want to dare reigning him in. Lance was good, and he was getting better. She wanted to see how far he could go but it was more than that.

He was good for the brand.

Lance had a way of working the crowd and the sponsors, a warm disarming attitude that made him feel approachable and welcoming.  Shiro had been immensely popular with fans too, but his star was always just that tiny amount out of reach. He held himself apart, distant. He was like the shiny trophy on a pedestal you admired from afar.

Lance, on the other hand, was right in there amongst it. The fans adored him and he adored them right back.

She sighs, wishing away the headache that threatens behind her eyes. “He wasn’t always. This kind of… temper… is new.”

“He was always a bit wild on the track in our carting days but he was never an asshole about it,” Lance muses. Allura looks at him in confusion.

“We went through your dad’s academy together. He was a year or so ahead of me though.”

“Oh, yes, I remember reading that.” 

Lance rocks back on his chair and places his boots on the table. The smirk he gives her is borderline cute and insolent. She doesn’t feel like another fight today so she pulls out a chair and joins him. He grins at her like he’s had a small victory and as she finds her mouth twitching at the corners, he grins wider.

“How do you do that?” she finally laughs after a moment. “You always manage to make me smile.”

That simple statement makes him flush with pride.  “You deserve that. You deserve someone who makes you smile every day.”

He says it so confidently, like he really believes it. She thinks about her husband, god knows where doing god knows what right now. She hasn’t spoken to him in weeks and she’s completely at ease with that.

Although, with the rate the team is quietly imploding in Shiro’s absence, she worries Lotor might want to step back in and reign in control. She’ll be damned if she lets that happen. Team Voltron is her baby, she was the one to put in the hours to make it work. She was the one who had pulled the team together and bullied them from a group of mismatched individuals to the powerhouse it currently was. Lotor was not going to take that away from her.

“Man, I don’t know who you’re thinking about right now but I’m glad I’m not them,” Lance comments. It’s enough to snap her out of her reverie and she lets out a breathless and slightly embarrassed laugh to be caught so lost in her own thoughts.

“I’m sorry, I should be focusing on the task at hand.”

“Getting Keith in a better mood?” Lance is only half joking. “He was good with Shiro around, right?”

“That’s correct,” she answers slowly, wondering what Lance is getting at. She eyes him warily.

“So, bring Shiro back,” Lance shrugs. “Make him a consultant, stick him in the commentary box with Coran, hell, let him work on race strategy with Pidge. Maybe just having him around will be enough to calm Keith down.”

She almost misses it in the easy way Lance says it, like the solution is so obvious he shouldn’t really need to be saying it at all. It makes complete sense. Shiro was struggling with life as a spectator, she knew as much when she went to visit him in the weeks leading up to pre-season. Oh, he’d tried to put on a brave face, he’d smiled and said all the right things, but she’d seen through it easily enough. He’d been hurting and lost and… alone. And even after all these months, she still couldn’t fathom why Keith hadn’t been to see him during his recovery.

It made no sense and it was making everyone miserable.

Perhaps Lance was right and reuniting Keith with Shiro would help to curb his downward spiral, and perhaps bringing Shiro back to the sport he’s spent and entire life living and breathing and almost dying for in a role that could help him utilise his vast experience in a way that will give him purpose again.

“Lance! You’re a genius.” 

Without thinking, she presses a quick kiss to his cheek and then dashes out the door. 

 

* * *

 

Shiro’s first reaction when he sees Allura’s name light up on the screen of his vibrating phone is to ignore it. Reminders of his old life stung, but then again, it didn’t seem to stop him from checking the news feeds and devouring every piece of information and social media he could find on the team…. and Keith.

It shouldn’t hurt this much. Not after all this time. It’s been months, and he was slowly starting to rebuild his life. It wasn’t the golden ride it was before, this life was smaller, simpler and somehow, it had been just what he needed.

But now he was feeling that familiar urge again, that need to be in amongst it, fighting his own battles and claiming victories. He played a game with himself at home instead, small challenges to give him a sense of control and achievement in the empty days.

Get out of bed, shower, eat, go for a walk – victory!

Complete his physical therapy, without tears – victory!

Don’t think about Keith and how much he misses him- _fuck!_

_Baby steps, Takashi. Baby steps._

His phone continues to trill, reaching the end of the cycle and cutting out only to start up again. Allura keeps calling and he keeps ignoring it, until finally in frustration he answers, snapping up the phone in his good hand and growling into the speaker.

_“What?!”_

“Well, it’s about time you answered. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

“I _was_ avoiding you,” he mutters.  “What do you want?”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line. He can almost picture the calculating look in Allura’s eye, he’d seen it often enough. She was good at managing them, at juggling the egos of overly passionate drivers. A lick of curiosity rears up inside him but he doesn’t dare to hope.

“How would you feel about re-joining the team?”

 

* * *

 

Keith excels at qualifying, settling back into his top spot for the next handful of races. He qualifies in pole position every time but then the race starts and it all falls apart.

Lance doesn’t work with him on the track, but against him and the two of them are constantly at odds enough that when they eventually make contact on the first turn of the racing calendar’s inaugural night race, they both spin out and almost come to blows right there in front of the crowds.

Later, it’s not just Allura that chews them out, but the race marshals, the stewards and the press and both of them end up with a five-place grid penalty ahead of the next race.

It was shit.

He finds himself hungrier for that title than ever before, vowing to himself that if Shiro wasn’t there to claim it, then Lance sure as shit wasn’t going to. But the infighting between them sees Team Sincline leaping ahead in the points and team Voltron starts to see Shiro’s legacy falling away.

Keith is huddled in the back of the team’s garage, shoved between stacks of tyres and spare wings for the cars, earphones shoved in his ears and the music cranking high enough to block out the sounds of the mechanics and the press and the legion of fans and sponsors making their way through the paddock ahead of the race.  He needs to block them out, to focus, but he misses the little pre-race rituals he had with Shiro, the ludicrous trash talk thrown between them that often devolved into something ugly and crude enough that Keith would need to make it up to Shiro later that night under crisp hotel sheets.

He looks up when he sees Lance walk past and a voice tells him in the back of his mind that he should try. Just… try.  Talk to him, see how it goes but Lance’s energy seems to have too much feedback against his own. It snaps and buzzes, pushing up against him in a way that Shiro’s never did. It makes Keith’s teeth itch enough that when Lance taps him on the shoulder he has to avoid visibly tensing. He can’t manage a smile but he at least he doesn’t grimace.

“Hey, how about a team cheer?” Lance grins at him as Keith pulls an earphone out to hear what Lance is saying. His smile is too bright, too mocking. It grates on him.

“Uh, sure?” he says but it’s unenthusiastic enough that Lance rolls his eyes.

“Come on, man. It’s race time soon. Get excited! Okay, okay, okay, don’t scowl at me. How about… I say Vol, you say tron? Vol….”

Keith blinks. “Uh… vol… tron?”

Lance gives him a disappointed look and it immediately annoys him. “We’ll work on it,” he calls out over his shoulder as he walks away.

Keith shoves his earphones back in and dials up the music a little louder.

 

* * *

 

_It’s his first time in the car, the shiny new formula one chassis that would propel him into the big leagues and for the first time in his life, he’s nervous. The stands are empty of crowds but there were still spectators, and these were ones that mattered. The ones that would decide if he was ready to graduate into the world’s most prestigious motorsport, or if he would have to spend another year racing drivers that couldn’t hope to come close to his skill and times._

_He was about to go from a big fish in a small pond, to a small fish in a huge pond full of piranhas._

_The man guiding the session smiles at him. “Alright, Keith. Don’t get too cocky now, just show us your best times and we’ll go from there.”_

_He takes a deep breath. He’s got this. He’s done the sims, he’s driven last season’s cars, now it was time to put the hammer down and really show them what he’s got._

_The car leaps onto the track. He’s the first of many out on the track so the surface hasn’t quite come up to temperature and his times lag slightly because of it. But he’s determined and when he goes again, this time he compensates and rocks into the corners a little harder. It’s the right strategy and he shaves more off his time._

_By the end of his session, he’s sweating but exhilarated and he pulls himself out of the car easily. They’re watching him with unbridled interest, a woman with silver hair and dark skin and a man that Keith instinctively realises from his posture and form is another driver. It’s not until he gets closer that he realises the man behind the aviators is the youngest and newest world champion, Takashi Shirogane._

_Keith pulls off his helmet and his balaclava and stashes them under his arm. He’s sure he looks a mess, dark hair wild about his face but the few extra seconds it takes to muss it into place gives him a chance to catch his breath._

_“That was quite a drive,” the champion says, an impressed glean in his eye. “I wonder how you’ll go in the big leagues?”_

_He doesn’t really ask it expecting an answer but something inside Keith compels him to. “If I can keep up with you, I think I’ll be fine.”_

_Takashi’s eyebrows shoot up, slightly incredulous. “And do you? Do you think you can keep up?”_

_This is it, Keith thinks. This is his chance._

_Beside Takashi, the silver haired woman watches them both with interest._

_“Give me a chance and I’ll do more than keep up.”_

_It surprises him when they exchange a glance between them he can’t read._

_“Voltron,” the woman says.  “Do you know it?”_

_Know it? Keith was raised on the history of it, posters of the championship winning team cars on his wall as a child. They’d been a house hold name when he was a kid, until their main driver defected to another team and the current line up couldn’t match their pace. The team hadn’t been in the sport for years, but now it looked like it was about to resurrected._

_Was he going to have chance to be part of it? Keith has to swallow back the flare of hope._

_“Yeah, I do.”_

_The woman nods.  “Good. Then you know how important it is that we do this right. We’re reviving the team, we’re going into battle for the championship. We’re going to reclaim my father’s legacy.”_

_“Think you’re up for it?” the champion asks._

_Keith pauses long enough to take a breath as his mind skims over the possibilities. It’s a no-brainer really.  This new_ _iteration of Team Voltron would be an unknown quantity in the new season but they already had the backing of the reigning world champion. Surely Takashi wouldn’t move into a team he wasn’t confident enough to win races with?_

_They were looking for a number two driver, no doubt to support Takashi’s push to win and they weren’t looking from within the current driver line up to do it._

_They were willing to take a chance on Keith, how could Keith refuse to take the chance on them?_

_“More than up for it,” Keith replies. He’s proud of how sure and focused his voice sounds._

_Takashi smiles and extends his hand._

_“Then welcome to the team, rookie.”_

 

* * *

 

The formation lap brings with it an icy cold calm. Keith falls into position and lines his car up on the grid. He’d missed qualifying in pole position this race, but so then did Lance. Instead, it’s team Sincline on pole and he’s been shuffled sideways to the dirty side of the track in second position.  Lance is directly behind him and the run to the first turn is long enough that he knows Lance and half the field is going to be on his ass hard and he knows he won’t be able to jostle for the lead without some serious speed.

The lights go red, flashing down until the race starts and he puts his foot down, surging his car forward to tail after Acxa in the lead. She’s faster than him, but his car has the downforce he needs to take the corners at speed and he manages to keep up just enough that he slips through the apex on her tail without any interference from the rest of the pack. From here, it’s a matter of keeping an eye on his mirrors and Lance until it’s time to implement the race strategy he’d managed to duke out with Pidge the morning before.

“Manage your tyres,” Pidge says in his ear. “You’re already in dirty air.”

He acknowledges it with a grunt through the comms.

The spectators in the stands are nothing but a blur as he streaks past and what follows is two hours of intense concentration until the final laps.

Pidge’s strategy had worked its charm and despite dropping back in the field initially, he’d managed to leap frog the other teams and slide back into the lead. But, so had Lance.

Keith knows Lance wants the win as badly as he does. He can feel his teammate all over him, no longer caring about managing his tyres with only two laps to go. Lance is trying to harry him into making a mistake, chewing up the distance between them until Lance is no longer in his rear-view but beside him.  The crowd roars and he swears.

“He’s all over me! He needs to back off!”

There’s the crackle of static. He can’t hear Lance on the team radio through his helmet but Allura and Pidge’s delayed response eventually comes through and that’s when it happens.

Lance takes advantage of his split-second distraction and lunges for the lead. He angles his car enough that Keith needs to brake to avoid contact but he’s too angry to give up his position without a fight and he sticks to the racing line, edging out Lance enough that it becomes a literal wheel to wheel battle.

He doesn’t know who hit who first but suddenly their cars collide and his machine spins and flips, debris and fibreglass strewn behind as the world rotates outside. The jolt when the car lands is painfully jarring but the hans strap attached to his helmet prevents his head from being jolted too much. When the car comes to a stop, he’s panting and Allura’s voice vibrates with barely controlled panic on the airwaves.

He groans as the sounds of the rest of the field streak past. _Fuck._

“Keith! Keith, respond.”

“Yeah,” he groans, blinking away the still rolling scenery behind his eyes. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Allura says something else he can’t quite make out. His ears are ringing but he detaches the steering wheel just as a small group of race marshals run out to meet his car. He declines their help, pulling himself out of the wreckage and wincing at the damage. 

The car was a mess, Hunk was going to kill him but worst of all, he had just lost to Lance… again.

 

* * *

 

Lotor’s voice is cold over the phone, but then that’s the way it always is. While they didn’t marry for affection, Allura privately wonders if they even liked each other. Lotor wanted an in for the sport, he wanted a way to achieve the elite status he craved without having to put in the work, and what better way than marry into the sports royalty? Allura had needed the funds, desperate to get her vision of Team Voltron off the ground and Lotor had deep, deep pockets. 

She fulfilled the role of a doting wife at his side when he required it, he signed the cheques without looking too closely. It worked well, until it didn’t.

“Really, Allura, if you can’t control the squabbling between your drivers, I need to question if you’re really suitable to lead this team at all.”

“How can you say that? I pulled this team together from nothing and we’ve delivered time and time again. Shiro gave you _five_ world titles, the most any driver in recent history has ever achieved. Team Voltron is the number one team on the grid and you’re questioning me?”

“Shiro is gone and these new drivers seem intent only on destroying each other. How many times have they collided now?”

Allura grits her teeth. “There have been no investigations. It was ruled a racing incident. They’re _racers_ , we need to let them _race,_ even against each other _._ It’s want the spectators want, or it’s nothing but a rote performance.”

“See to it that they stop crashing and start winning. Or Team Voltron is going have to find someone else to pay their over excessive bills.”

The line goes dead before she can respond.

 

* * *

 

Keith hates this part. Answering inane questions from the media about the race just run. He tries to keep the fury out of his tone, he tries to smile and keep it polite like Shiro had taught him, all the while wishing he could be somewhere else.

“Well, Keith, that was quite a drive,” a reporter says. A bevy of microphones are shoved in his face, a few cameras too. “Was your disappointing result to do with the grind place penalty you received after fighting with your teammate?”

He’s glad he has his sunglasses on. Shiny reflective aviators that hide the expression in his eyes. He stalls by tugging down his cap and wiping away the sweat that beads under his hair. He knows they’re angling for any hint of weakness or dissent within the team so he puts on his media face.

“The grid place penalty was unfortunate. Lance and I are both racers, and you know, this sport brings out a lot of heated emotions. It got away from us and today we have to wear the consequences and we owe a big apology to the team for letting them down.”

“You and Takashi never seemed to have these inter-team squabbles, you both worked so well together and Shiro was always quick to sing your praises. Do you expect the same from your new teammate?”

“I’m not sure anyone can sing Lance’s praises any louder than Lance,” Keith says dryly.

The reporters clamour with more questions he doesn’t feel like answering.

 

* * *

 

_Keith raps on the door to the luxurious motorhome. The races on the continent were always his favourites, it meant less time travelling to and from airports, less hours in sky and for a racer, he appreciated the extra time with his boots on the ground._

_There’s no answer to his knock so he tries again. “Shiro? It’s Keith.”_

_He waits a beat then he hears the click on the other side. He steps back just in time to allow the door to swing open. Shiro half leans on it, a harsh expression on his face. He flicks his eyes over Keith then steps back, disappearing inside but leaving the door open enough in invitation. Keith follows him in, securing the door behind him and padding up the small staircase into the compact but luxuriously appointed living space of the motorhome that would be Shiro’s home away from home during the next few race weekends._

_“I’m not good company when I lose,” Shiro throws the words out over his shoulder. He stalks to the couch, throwing himself down and rubbing a hand over his eyes._

_“I know,” Keith responds quietly. He sits down at one edge of the couch, leaving distance between them. He knows what it feels like, the frustration that comes with a loss when they had worked so hard to make everything right. Sometimes it didn’t matter if you had the best drivers, the best team or the best strategy, a certain part of it still came down to luck. And the driver that spun out as Shiro was overtaking and took Shiro’s car with him had been unlucky enough that it resulted in Shiro barely being able to limp the car over the line. He finished in fifteenth place, his lowest position in years meaning not even any points to push him up the leaderboard of the championship while Keith had cruised to third place._

_It had to sting._

_“I can’t even hit a bar or a club,” Shiro mutters. His jaw is so tight with frustration and disappointment. He’s right though. He’d would either be accused by the tabloids of not taking his championship battle seriously, or he’d be mocked for drowning his sorrows. Either way would be perceived as a weakness and that was something the team couldn’t afford right now. “How would that look?”_

_“Like you’re having a good time?” Keith hedges. He tries to keep his response light. He doesn’t want Shiro to spiral any further._

_Shiro snorts and lays his head back against the back of the plush lounge. His eyes close. He looks pale under the fluorescent lights of the motorhome._

_“I have too much pent-up energy I need to get rid of. Maybe I need to hit the gym. Or punch something. Or fuck. I don’t know.”_

_Keith can see it. Shiro is all but vibrating with the force of his defeat, the corded muscles in his neck strain and his hands clench and unclench in a shaky rhythm. Then his eyes open and he tilts his head back down and the fire in his gaze makes Keith’s gut clench._

_“Maybe you should go,” Shiro mutters with a twisted downturn to his lips._

_Keith eyes him, and the months before replay in his mind. They’d built a bond between them since they’ve started racing together, and it’s comfortable. There’s a good balance that exists between them. He likes Shiro, he more than likes Shiro, and not just as a teammate. He likes the way Shiro sounds, the way he looks, the way his touch lingers on his shoulder or at his back when they’re dissecting track telemetries or enduring yet another media scrum or just sharing a meal after a long day of testing and training._

_But there’s always been something underneath, an undercurrent that burns and tugs at him._

_He’s beginning to think Shiro might feel that tug too._

_“Or, I could stay,” he says. He taps one hand against his thigh, wondering if Shiro is attuned enough to him that he will pick up the invitation in Keith’s voice. Shiro stares at him for a beat then the side of his lip curls. It’s almost mesmerizing to watch.  Keith sees the heat gather in Shiro’s eyes and there is a flutter of nerves in his belly. But he keeps his voice calm. “Because I’m not imagining it, am I?”_

_It takes a long moment for Shiro to answer. Keith heart hammers in his chest as the emotions play across the silver of Shiro’s eyes. Keith knows he’s weighing his options, looking at the long term. If they blur the lines between them, what will it mean for the team? Emotions in this sport already skirt the edge of the insane, would this add more fuel to an already thriving flame? Keith had thought about it too, and in his mind, it all made sense.  “The way you look at me, it’s like…”_

_“Like I want you?”_

_Keith’s breath catches at the rough way Shiro says it. He can all but hear the arousal in Shiro’s voice and his own body reacts instantly. He nods and Shiro tilts his head, the silver in his eyes turns calculating._

_“And is that a problem for you, Keith? Does it make you uncomfortable?”_

_Shiro asks the question so mildly it’s directly at odds to the heat in his eyes. He’s doing it again, Keith thinks in irritation. Shiro is looking at him with a mixture of something soft but starving at the same time._

_“It will if you don’t fucking act on it,” Keith snaps. His ears feel hot and he abruptly feels like he’s on the back foot, as though Shiro is secretly laughing at him. Maybe he should just leave, it would be a bad idea to fuck his teammate surely but… god, he wants it. He wants Shiro badly enough it keeps him awake at night.  He’s developed a craving that no one else but Shiro can satisfy._

_He knows, because he’d tried and each casual hook up had him imagining the face of his teammate._

_Shiro’s eyes glitter but he doesn’t smile. The look in his eye is sharp. Hungry. He looks like how Keith feels._

_“We’d have to keep it quiet,” Shiro says._

_“No shit,” Keith rolls his eyes but then he’s getting up and crossing the two steps it takes to climb into Shiro’s lap and clash their mouths together. They’ve kissed before, sloppy drunk kisses on a dark balcony at the end of an after-party but this was all together different._

_“I’m gonna fuck you,” Shiro warns._

_“Good,” Keith mutters. He’s yanking on their shirts, the black material splashed with an array of logos of their sponsors. They couldn’t go anywhere without these damn uniforms but when he hears the sound of something ripping he doesn’t give a shit. There’s plenty more they’ll be forced to wear._

_Shiro is true to his word and they don’t even make it past the floor of the motorhome. The rug is surprisingly soft against his back and Shiro looms over him, wide hands trapping Keith underneath him and a violence to this thrusts that has Keith keening._

_He’s held down and filled and desperate for relief when Shiro suddenly freezes and he shoves his hand over Keith’s mouth to muffle Keith’s swearing protest.  The warning in his eyes makes Keith blink and fade back in._

_He hears it then, the knock against the motorhome door and Allura’s voice calling out for Shiro. His eyes go wide under Shiro’s hand and he tries to scramble away, only to find Shiro has him locked down too hard. Shiro shakes his head silently, tightening his grip against Keith’s mouth._

_“Shh, she’ll go soon,” Shiro whispers. The quiet reassurance is at odds with the way Shiro suddenly slowly and deliberately rolls his hips, dragging himself out of Keith’s body then back in._

_Keith’s barely holding on, biting into Shiro’s hand to keep quiet as Shiro fucks him harder. Allura’s voice fades away and then Shiro is kissing the climax from his mouth as he shudders through his own._

 

* * *

 

It’s Shiro’s first time back at the track and he’s not prepared. Not at all.

The smells and the sounds of revving engines feel like home, but the stares and the whispers, the press of the media firing questions about his crash, his recovery, his plans for the future trail after him as he walks through the track paddock. He should have thought this through better but after Allura’s call, he’d just wanted to get to work. It hadn’t taken much to call up their team’s crew and get on a plane to where they were racing this weekend.

He’s wearing his old team livery, it’s a little tighter than it used to be now that he’s been freed from the strict nutritional regime that kept him so lean in order to fit into the cars due to his extra height and despite the artificial arm he sports, he’s bulked out enough that most people need to double take when they see him.

Of course, it might just be the slash of the scar across his cheeks too.

Allura is waiting for him at the start of the pit lane, a smile on her face he can’t help but respond too.

“Ally,” he says, just seconds before she throws her arms around him and he almost teeters under the force of her welcome. He’s glad he’d been fitted with the high-tech prosthetic now, having it on helps immensely with his balance.

“Shiro, it’s so good to have you back.”

A car a few garages down the pit wall revs and pops its engines and the sound of it settles into his bones. He hugs her a little tighter.

“It’s good to be back.”

 

* * *

Hunk is running over the changes he’s made to the car as a result of Keith’s complaints during the first free practice and Keith listens closely. Hunk tries to keep it simple enough for Keith to understand but even after years in the sport, there are still too many things that are a little too far beyond him technically. All he knows is how the car feels under him as he drives and hammers that racing line through the track, and whether it’s right or wrong.

He’s still trying to untangle some of the jargon Hunk uses when Pidge shows up and taps him on the shoulder. She gestures to both of them.  “Hey, team meeting in the briefing room upstairs in five.”

“What? Now?” Keith demands. A glance over at the digital clock on the garage wall tells him they have less than an hour before the next practice session. He wants as much time on the track as possible today. After the last shunt and the damage to his car, he needs to make sure it’s purring right under him come race day.

“It won’t take long, but we need to hurry.”

Hunk and Keith exchange a glance and they follow after Pidge to the back of the garage and through the doors into the secure team space, the private area away from the rest of the pit crew and spectators and media milling in the paddock.  Lance is already waiting for them on the stairs.

“Anyone know what this is about?” he asks. 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Pidge tells him, scooting past to take the lead. They trail after her and she pushes the door to the meeting open with a light grunt. It surprises Keith to see so many others in the rooms, at least half the pit crew all in Voltron livery, plus a few others that he recognises as race marshals, and even one of the commentators. They’re huddled around a tall man, broad shouldered with dark hair and he’s wearing the team’s own colours enough that Keith experiences a momentary flash of confusion.

Then he turns, the crowd parts and Keith almost falls to his knees.

Pidge launches herself at him first. “Shiro!”

He laughs, that same deep rich rumble that spills out of his chest that Keith dreams about. Pidge slams into his side and he takes one step back to brace himself as he curls one arm around her. He doesn’t move the other one. Of course, he doesn’t and then Keith remembers why.

Shiro is quickly surrounded by the others, Lance wasting no time and talking about Shiro being his hero, Shiro laughs but it doesn’t ring true to Keith’s ears. It’s Shiro’s fake laugh, the one he puts on for the sponsors and the fans, the one he forces out when he’s breaking up inside.

Keith can’t move from the doorway.

Shiro looks up again and their eyes meet. The crackle between them is a wormhole between galaxies, folding the space between them until Shiro’s presence is the only thing Keith can feel brushing against him, and then it snaps back and he’s rooted in the doorway and trying not to shake. Keith wants to cross the room and throw himself into Shiro’s arms much like Pidge had, but he wants to run, he wants to cry and scream too.

He settles for hunching down on himself instead.

A roomful of eyes land on them. Keith can feel them flick side to side. 

“Hi, Keith,” and Keith feels another twist of a knife in his heart. That coolness in his tone has never been there before, never when he says Keith’s name. He’d never realised how warmly or how precious Shiro treated it until now, it had been safe on Shiro’s tongue.

It takes him a second to find his voice. It cracks slightly as he speaks. “Shiro.”

Shiro eyes him for a moment more. He looks… almost expectant, like he’s waiting for Keith to offer him something more and when Keith doesn’t, Shiro’s gaze turns dismissive and he switches back to Pidge and Allura, both women both talking at him excitedly.

Keith slips away without anyone noticing.

 

* * *

 

_Keith never thought of himself as a sore loser. He still had the urge to throw things (and occasionally indulged it) but he never considered himself to be a bad sportsman about it._

_But today’s potential pole position had been snatched out of his hands by forces beyond his control and he was livid._

_He doesn’t remove his helmet as he stalks his way through the pit lane and back to his motorhome. He doesn’t stop to talk to the media, he doesn’t acknowledge his team. All he can think about is getting somewhere quiet and safe where he can rage and lick his wounds in peace._

_Fuck, he’d been so close!_

_He reaches his safe space and yanks off his helmet, throwing it to the side and pulling off his race suit as well. His session was done for today and he needed to calm himself down before he once again faced his team and the fans. Just… needed to stop pacing and swearing and just catch a fucking breath._

_He standing in the middle of this trailer with his eyes scrunched closed and his jaw tightly clenched when Shiro finds him._

_“Hey, Keith. Are you alright?”_

_He opens his eyes, startled to realise he’s not alone. “Uh, yeah. No. I don’t think so. I fucked up.”_

_“Yeah, you did, but it happens. Tomorrow will be better.”_

_Keith narrows his eyes, not appreciating the platitude.  “It won’t be better, it’ll be shit. I didn’t even make it into Q3 which means I won’t be starting anywhere in the top ten.”_

_“No, you won’t. It’s not ideal but you’ve started from worse positions. You’ll be fine. Just remember the mantra.”_

_“Patience yields focus,” Keith mutters. His breathing settles and the heat leaks away. It happens so easily when he looks at Shiro. What was it about this guy that had him standing down his anger so effortlessly._

_“That’s right. All you need to remember tomorrow is to be patient enough to read the traffic ahead of you. Read the drivers ahead of you. React with focus and know where you’re going to go before you make your move.”_

_Keith sighs in irritation but it’s directed at himself. “Okay, yeah. Thanks.”_

_“It’s only your third race. I know you want to go punch that other driver that ruined your out lap but you can’t let it get to you. It won’t be the last time this happens.”_

_Keith nods and Shiro squeezes his shoulder. God, his hands are huge and they’re strong. And the way Shiro fills out his race suit makes Keith’s body twitch. Shiro doesn’t take his hand away and the lingering heat makes Keith look up at him._

_“You can do this, Keith.”_

_Keith draws in a breath. Shiro still doesn’t move his hand. Keith leans into it and Shiro’s eyes flicker with the realisation._

_“I know.”_

 

* * *

 

Shiro settles back into the team as though he’d never really left and although everyone tries to act like it’s a homecoming, it’s not. It can never really ever be. Shiro can’t don his race suit, can’t slip on that helmet and get back on the track to race against his peers. Those days are long over and although he feels that he’s accepted it, he’s not so sure the others do.

Still, he’s touched by the way he’s welcomed back into the fold. Even rival drivers from rival teams, drivers he’d crushed on his way to storm the championship year after year stop and greet him as he moves about the paddock. The various track marshals, the stewards, the pit crews, they’ll all happy to see one of their own return after such a devastating crash.

And as long as he treats it for what it is, he’s okay.

“Shiro, now I want to talk to you about the changes happening in team Voltron. It’s been quite a shake up since you left us and we are all thrilled by your return, but how do you feel the team is coping without you? Do you feel that team orders should have been put in place to prevent the wheel to wheel racing between Keith and Lance that resulted in a collusion that cost both of them a shot at the podium and points for the team?”

He’s conscious of the cameras on him, the microphone Coran has shoved into his hands. Coran has been following the sport for as long as Shiro can remember and he’s always been a fair and unbiased commentator.  Shiro had agreed to the interview as part of the race weekend’s media coverage but too late he realises how in-depth he might need to get.

He wonders if Keith will watch it and hopes he won’t.

“We don’t want to be relying on team orders too much. Healthy, competitive racing even amongst team mates is what this sport is built on.”

“But it’s different depending on the drivers, is it not?” Coran presses. Shiro already knows where he’s going with his questioning and tries to brace himself for it.  “You and Keith didn’t have the animosity that seems to be present between him and Lance. The two of you had a good level of respect that allowed you to work well together.”

Shiro considers the statement.

“Keith and I raced together a lot longer,” he says. “We were teammates for years. Lance and Keith are still new, still learning their boundaries and how to communicate. And Keith is… passionate.  But yes, we had a good level of respect between us, both on and off the track.”

“Well, I for one certainly hope the outcome of this race is a better one for team Voltron. One more DNF from both drivers will mean Team Sincline will take the lead in the championship. Even the Blades team is sniffing at the rear. This is an intense season for all teams-”

Coran continues narrating to the camera and an assistant beckons Shiro away from the interview couch. He hands her back the microphone and walks away, breathing a sigh of relief that was over. 

 

* * *

 

Keith wants to avoid him.

It’s pitiably difficult for him to see Shiro in the garage, nodding alongside Allura, discussing race strategy with Pidge. He’s back in uniform and despite the extra bulk and the shiny glint of his artificial hand, he looks as though he never left.

As though Keith had never shoved him away.

Fuck, but all Keith wants to do is walk over to him and throw his arms around him, sob into his chest at how _good_ it is to see him. Because at the core of it all, it is. Shiro is back where he belongs, even if he’s a little different, a little changed. He’s back with the team and he should never have been away from them in the first place.

Keith wonders if it’s possible to drown in a sea of your own guilt. He yanks his helmet on instead.

 

* * *

 

_Shiro’s hand takes a journey over his skin, rising up his calf, over his thighs and his buttocks to land against the small of Keith’s back and dance up his spine._

_Keith blinks awake in the sunshine, squinting up as Shiro’s form blocks the sun._

_“What are you doing,” he mumbles, struggling not to flinch away. He doesn’t want to, he wants to press into that hand but they’re in the open here. Anyone could see them._

_“Relax,” Shiro murmurs. “No one is around. I sent the staff away and there’s no paparazzi here.”_

_“That you know of,” Keith says as he shifts. The daybed creaks with Shiro’s weight. The vivid blue of the ocean sparkles in the distance._

_“We pay far too much for there not to be privacy here. What’s the point of racing in this part of the world if we can’t take even one afternoon to enjoy it?”_

_“What about Allura?”_

_“She’s not here either,” Shiro answers. He shifts his bulk on the daybed, crowding into Keith’s space. Keith is torn between sinking into it and tensing in case he needs to spring away. Not that he could spring anywhere when Shiro settles between his thighs and he’s helpless not to wrap his legs around him. Shiro’s skin is sun warmed and salty from the pool but his lips are sweet. “No one is. It’s just us.”_

_Keith melts under him, under his eager mouth. “Just us.”_

 

* * *

 

Lance watches Keith shovel the food into his mouth with as much enthusiasm as a walk to the gallows. He can’t figure this guy out. His boyfriend was back and he still moped around the paddock like it was the end of the world and it was _really_ starting to piss him off.

No, wait, he was already pissed off.

Keith cost him a podium place at best and points towards the championship at worst. Lance liked to think of himself as easy going most days but today he was still livid under his skin.

“You know,” Lance starts casually but it’s hard to hold back the bite of anger in his tone. “Rumour around the paddock is that you and Shiro weren’t just teammates on the track but off it too, if you catch my drift.”

Keith’s fork stills in mid-air, frozen half way through it’s journey to Keith’s mouth.  Keith’s expression turns thunderous. 

_Good._

“Any truth to it?” Lance leans forward and drums out a tempo with his fingers against the surface of the table as he smirks. 

“Fuck off,” Keith mutters. He drops his fork to the table with a clatter.

“Oh, touchy.”

“I said fuck off, Lance.”

“You fuck off, I was here first.”

It’s ridiculously easy to make Keith bite. He knows it’s childish to antagonize his teammate like this but hell, he’s not here to fuck around anymore. He wants the wins. He wants the way Allura looks at him when he holds those trophies aloft over his head and to see her eyes shine with pride. 

He wants any advantage he can get and messing with his teammate psychologically will only help his cause.

“Or is just a thing you do? Fuck your teammates I mean,” he continues.  Then he feigns shock and surprise. “Oh, shit, do you want to fuck _me?”_

It gets the desired response. Keith shoves his chair back so quickly and harshly enough that Lance actually tenses. God, he was so easy to rile up, it was pathetic. It’s why they keep losing. Lance shakes his head.

Keith glares at him with eyes full of lava. 

A lesser man would have crumbled under the force of that glare.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Keith snarls. His voice goes low and dangerous. He almost looks like a feral animal with his hard eyes under that dark shaggy hair. “But if I hear you say one word against Shiro, I will _fuck your shit up_.”

Lance lifts his chin and the memory of his tyre puncture a few hundred metres from the finish line flashes in front of his eyes. He slams the table with enough fury Keith’s eyes widen then quickly narrow.

“Newsflash, asshole! You’ve already fucked my shit up!”

 

* * *

 

Allura and Shiro get word of the fist fight at the same time. They find both men at opposite ends of the team briefing room, bags of ice against their chins and a very irritated Hunk standing between them. Lance throws out insult after insult and Keith huddles in his chair, middle finger up, eyes mutinous, and deadly silent.

It’s like dealing with teenagers.

“Alright, stow it, both of you!”

Both men blink at Shiro’s whip like tone and they both sink into sullen silences and slump into their chairs.

“Oh, thank god,” Hunk mutters. “Can I go now?”

Allura pats his arm. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Hunk.”

He looks at her mournfully.  “I couldn’t stop them fast enough, I think Lance lost a tooth.”

“I did! Son of a _cocksu-“_

“LANCE!”

Lance’ s mouth snaps shut at Shiro’s bark and he sinks deeper into his seat. Shiro spares a moment to cast his eyes over at Keith and Keith meets it for a split second, his expression shuttered then his gaze flits away as he readjusts the pack of ice on his chin.

_What’s gotten into you, Keith. This isn’t you._

“Maybe it’s best to get some fresh air. Keith, you’re with me.”

“What! But Keith threw the first punch!”

“Lance, what did you say to him to make him angry enough to hit you?”

“Me? Why is this my fault? Why are you- okay, yeah so-“ Lance slides a look at Shiro he can’t decipher then shifts back to Allura.  “Okay, they can go.”

“Keith,” Shiro tries again. He jerks his head and for a second the openly belligerent expression on Keith’s face makes Shiro think he’s about to refuse. But then he’s slowly moving away from his perch and following Shiro out into the hallway. The door shuts on Lance’s complaining.

Shiro eyes the man beside him. He looks smaller than Shiro remembers, although that’s more to do with the way his shoulders curl in a way they never had before. He looks tired, heartsore and Shiro feels the hardening around his heart crack. It hurts being this close to Keith after all that time apart.  He’d wanted this for so long but it isn’t the reunion he’d hoped for in his head. Or the one he’d dreamed about in his heart.

“You want to tell me what that was all about?”

Keith huffs and presses the ice further against his cheek. It’s mostly melted now, condensation dribbling down his hands and through his fingers into this shirt. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“No.”

Shiro waits a beat. Keith doesn’t elaborate. A sigh falls out of him.

“You guys need to work together,” Shiro starts but Keith walks off before he utters even a few words.  “Keith?”

Keith rounds the corner and disappears.

 

* * *

 

_“Ready for this, rookie?” Shiro asks him, leaning up against the doorway of his driver room. Out on the track he can hear the cars of the other leagues revving and the sounds of the crowds filling the airwaves and each rise and fall of sound has the butterflies in his stomach thrashing out._

_His first race day. His first time out on track under the Team Voltron banner._

_“Yeah, I’m ready,” Keith answers. His fist is clenched and he’s rubbing his thumb over his forefinger absently as he bounces one knee. He looks up to see Shiro watching him._

_“Nervous?”_

_Keith half laughs. “Uh, fuck yes. But I’m good. I can do this.”_

_Shiro gives him a smile that’s warm enough that Keith can feel it on the other side of the room. It feels genuine and it makes him frown. “Okay, but why are you being so nice?”_

_Shiro’s eyebrows go up in surprise. “Excuse me?”_

_“You’re the reigning champion, and I’m the new kid on the team. Why are you being so nice?”_

_Shiro considers him for a moment, his expression changes into something more guarded. “You just answered your own question.”_

_“What?”_

_“Like you said, I’m the reigning world champion. I can afford to be nice,” Shiro flashes him another smile, but this one comes with a calculating look in his eyes. “I know you’re good, Keith. And one day you’ll be better than me, that’s why we chose you. You’ve still got a lot to learn.”_

_Shiro peels himself away from the doorframe.  “But for now, just try to keep up.”_

 

* * *

Keith makes a point to board the private plane first, making his way to the back and dumping his gear on the chair beside him. He pulls out his headphones and cranks the music, leaning his head back and closing his eyes with his arms folded across his chest.

Shiro tries not to notice the way he’s isolated himself.

Pidge tugs him into the seat beside her, a little bit like old times with Hunk and Allura nearby. They choose the seats in a pod of four with a small table in the centre and Lance chooses a seat directly beside them. He promptly pulls out his phone to record a video for his social media, scanning it around the plane and zooming in on each of the passengers as he chats to his fans.

“And here we have the lovely, stunning, incredibly talented team principle & CEO Allura, there’s Hunk, hey Hunk wave for the camera, oh and here’s Pidge- hey! Pidge, you can’t do that!”

“Do what?” she asks and pushes her glasses back up her nose using her middle finger and smiling innocently.  Then she salutes with the same finger and makes a show of rubbing her chin until Lance cracks it and stops the recording. 

Shiro laughs at their bickering.

The first part of the flight uneventful and he tries to sleep but it eludes him. His gaze keeps trying to pull itself to Keith, stirring now that the cabin lights have been dimmed and the others are asleep.  He watches with one eye as Keith gets up and moves towards the small galley and Shiro debates if he should go too.

But the pull is too strong. He gets up quietly and heads towards the back of the plane. 

It’s bright on the other side of the curtain in the plane’s tiny gallery. Keith has a bottle of water in his hand and he freezes as Shiro steps into the small space. He looks like a hare caught in a trap, tense all over, eyes slightly wide.  Then he recovers and his expression goes shuttered again and it’s like a door slamming shut on Shiro’s face.

“Thirsty?” he says unnecessarily by way of greeting. Keith turns and takes a bottle from the minifridge behind him, handing it to Shiro wordlessly. It’s a bottle top with a seal and Shiro looks at it helplessly, the extent of his injury once again glaring in neon lights between them. 

It takes a second for Keith to realise and the agony on his face almost floors him.

“Keith,” Shiro says. His voice is rough. “It’s okay. I can probably do it, it’s just kind of awkward.”

Keith reaches for the bottle again, gripping it in one hand and deftly twisting the lid on the other. He doesn’t look at Shiro when he hands it back and something ugly and clawed curls around Shiro’s heart and squeezes it. 

_Don’t pity me, Keith. Don’t look at me like that._

“Sorry,” Keith says quietly and Shiro doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. The bottle of water? The shitty race performances? The lack of contact since the wall almost took him out?  The fact that Shiro had actually thought they were something more than fuck buddies?

Shiro shrugs. He can still do that at least. 

 

* * *

 

Lance is getting to him again. 

The first free practice session of the latest race weekend has him pushing harder than he ever has, but it’s still not enough. Lance keeps edging him out by milliseconds and he’s frustrated enough comparing their telemetries that he snaps angrily at Pidge that his car must be the problem.

Pidge looks like she’s about to skewer him.

“You have exactly the same upgrades as he does. Your cars are the same. _You’re_ the problem, not me,” she hisses at him, jabbing him painfully in the chest. For such a small woman, she has so much strength and so much backbone it’s a wonder her skin can contain it.

He opens his mouth to snarl when a wide hand curls around his bicep and squeezes.

“Keith.”

He knows Shiro’s tones as intimately as he knows the shape of his cars steering wheel and he instantly recognizes that tone Shiro uses. It commanding but it carries an echo of disappointment too. Disappointment directed at him.

Keith fucking hates it.

“What,” he snaps, jerking his arm back. Shiro lets go easily but he doesn’t move away. Pidge gives him a final furious look before stalking back to her station on the other side of the garage, seemingly done with their conversation. They’re still surrounded by the pit crew and the rest of the team and the media but with Shiro standing so close to him, they might as well be alone.

He’s the only thing Keith can focus on. It’s always been that way.

“You have to work as a team if you’re going to win this thing,” Shiro tells him quietly. Keith can’t bring himself to look at him but he mentally trails after the cadence of Shiro’s voice, absorbing his sound even as he ignores the words. The ache inside him almost leaves him breathless it hurts so fucking much.

“I know that,” he mutters angrily. He tells himself it hurts because he’s frustrated, and not that something precious between them was irreparably broken.  “I’m not a rookie anymore, this isn’t my first season.”

 “That’s right,” Shiro answers calmly, then his eyes narrow. “So, _act like it.”_

 

* * *

 

“Shiro, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Allura nudges her plate away, suddenly losing what little appetite she had to begin with. Shiro follows her motion with his good hand, the metal one resting on the table’s surface.

It had taken her some time to stop staring at it. Every time she did, it brought back the memory of watching the accident happen on the monitors of the pit wall. It was one thing to see the Shiro’s car suddenly veer off course then flip multiple times before slamming into the wall surrounding the track, but it was something altogether different when she saw the flames licking at the back of the car and Shiro wasn’t getting out.

It had been so close to the end of the race they didn’t even stop the race, just let it keep running while Shiro was whisked away by medical and the car towed back to the pits. She was split between her injured driver and the one about to win the race and it was a position she never wanted to be in again.

“Of course. What’s up?”

She bites her lip, wondering how she was supposed to ask this question, wondering how she was going to pry so deeply. She’d thought bringing Shiro back would be best for all of them, but somehow Keith seemed to still be spiralling. 

“You and Keith… is there something there?”

He stares at her. “What are you talking about?”

He had hesitated just a moment too long for her not to realise he was stalling. Trying to come up with a way to throw her off the scent maybe? She frowns to herself at the thought. It was so obvious she isn’t sure why she didn’t put it together sooner. Or perhaps she knew on an instinctual level and didn’t want to acknowledge what would be just another headache to manage when it all fell apart.

Jokes on her, here she was trying to do just that.

“You’re more than just friends, aren’t you? You have been for a while. Did you argue, is that why Keith is behaving this way?”

Shiro takes a breath and something about the set of his shoulders hints that he might be about to lie to her, or at least downplay whatever it was that was happening. But then he looks at her again and shakes his head.  “We didn’t put a label on it. We didn’t even talk about it.”

The confirmation should feel heavier than it does but it doesn’t feel like much of a surprise.  Throw a team together that spends nine to ten months of the year in their own private bubble travelling around the world, relationships were bound to form. Her gaze immediately wanders across the room and lands on Lance in the corner, laughing with some of the pit crew as they eat.  As though he senses her eyes on him, he looks up and catches her gaze.  The smile he flashes her before going back to his conversation makes her heart squeeze in her chest.

No. She couldn’t blame Shiro and Keith for falling into something even if she was left having to deal with the fallout.

“I don’t know how to get through to him,” she says quietly. She doesn’t need to say his name. Shiro knows.  The pain his face almost steals away her resolve. Shiro might not have said loved, but his eyes and the dip of his mouth say different. “But if Keith doesn’t get his act together, Lotor is going to replace him.”

 

* * *

 

_It’s not uncommon to end up in the wall, especially at this particular track. Add in some wet weather conditions and Keith had gotten too cocky too fast and the car spun away from him until he ended up smashed in the bollards. It was a testament to the incredible safety features the cars had that he was simply able to get out and walk away._

_Once qualifying is done and Pidge has chewed him out sufficiently enough for his bad mistake, he slinks away to the car waiting to take him back to the hotel. The medical team checked him out and deemed him fit to race but his muscles still ached like a bitch and a whopping headache was starting to build._

_He makes it to his hotel room and crawls into the shower before it can get any worse but hurts enough that he sinks to the floor and lets the water cascade over him for what feels like hours._

_Long enough that Shiro comes looking for him._

_“Good thing we got a suite, huh?” Shiro says, crouching down on the tiles on the other side of the shower door. He’s kind of fuzzy and hard to make out through the water droplets on the glass but Keith has never been happier to see him. “Have you taken anything?”_

_“They gave me something at the track,” he mumbles.  “But I think it’s worn off now. Everything hurts.”_

_“Yeah, that’s what happens when you hit a wall at 140kms an hour,” Shiro answers dryly. He climbs to his feet and reaches into the shower to flick off the water.  Keith shudders in the sprays sudden absence. “Come on, let’s get you out.”_

_He lets Shiro help him up, draping a thick white towel around his shoulders. Shiro collects another towel and quickly wipes it over Keith’s body before leading him into one of the bedrooms and tucking him still damp and naked into the sheets._

_“Wait, this is your room,” he manages to say. He has to close his eyes. His head hurts. And suddenly he’s feeling kind of emotional and he doesn’t want Shiro to go._

_“I know,” Shiro says. Keith’s eyes flutter open long enough to realise that Shiro is undressing and then his big body is curling around him, offering warmth and support and something that feels enough like protection that Keith instantly falls asleep._

_It’s the best night’s sleep he’s had in weeks._

 

* * *

 

Shiro corners Keith in his driver’s room.

It’s odd to see it again. It looks much the same as when it used to be _his_ room, save for a litany of gear in the current season’s designs and colours. All with the tell-tale stripe of red against the black and white that signified Keith’s own colours.

Keith is standing on the far side, a bottle of water in his hands and his nostrils flare when Shiro steps into the small room and closes the door firmly behind him.

“What are you doing here?” Keith demands. 

“Used to be mine, remember,” he says and as soon as he does, he knows he’s hit his mark. Keith visibly deflates in front of him and the suspicion he’s been harbouring for a while now is all but confirmed. Keith turns away, showing him his back. He isn’t interested in talking.

Well, too bad, because Shiro was.

“We need to talk.”

Keith’s shoulders stiffen instantly.  “About your racing,” Shiro amends.  It further strengthens his theory but he’s not quite ready to address it yet.

“What about it,” Keith sighs wearily. His shoulders slump, then curl. The bottle of water he was drinking gets discarded on the window sill. Shiro is somewhat relived the blinds are drawn. He doesn’t relish the thought of the entire paddock looking in if this devolves into an argument.

“You’re not focusing. You’re all over the place out there on the track-“

“I know,” Keith cuts him off with a mutter.

A moment passes and Keith’s internal walls climb higher. Shiro can see him building them brick by brick against him.

Keith’s always had walls, but never against him. The sinking in his gut bottoms out and the aching pain curls in.  Keith had hardened himself so hard against him Shiro finds that miniscule flicker of hope he hadn’t realised he’d been nursing fades out.

The pain is breathtaking enough he’s glad Keith has his back to him. He doesn’t know if he can keep it off his face.  It’s an effort to school his features and take a breath to steady his voice. At least now he knows where he stands. They can still work together, he tells himself.

“Keith-“

Even saying his name hurts. If Keith catches the faintest crack in his voice, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “Keith, you’re going to lose your seat if you can’t refocus.”

“What?” Keith’s head snaps up then and he rounds on Shiro with eyes sparking with so much fire. If only he could challenge that into his title fight and his driving and not at the world. And not at him.

“There’s been too many mistakes. Lotor wants to replace you.”

“Fuck Lotor!” Keith snarls. His hand trembles and his fist clenches. There’s not enough room in this small space to swing at anything but Shiro. Shiro almost wishes he would. “I’m not going anywhere. He can get rid of Lance if he wants to boot someone so badly.”

“Lance knows how to play the game, Keith. He’s got the speed on the track, he’s got a way with the fans and he’s bringing a hell of a lot of sponsors with him. He’s good for the brand.”

Keith is silent, his jaw working as he tries vainly to swallow down his anger. A year ago, Shiro would have simply pulled Keith into his arms and curled around him until his breathing settled and their hearts flowed in sync.

But then a year ago, this wouldn’t have been happening.

 

* * *

 

He gets tired enough of the recriminations, the disappointed looks from the team that when Kolivan offers him a seat on the Blade’s racing team’s plane to transit to the next race venue, Keith doesn’t hesitate.

They’re a smaller team, not quite as far up the pecking order in race wins as Voltron or Sincline, but they’re consistent, always lurking in the background with drivers skilled enough to take any advantage they could. They were currently in fourth place on the leaderboard and Keith knew the drivers well enough that the offer was made in good faith.

He’s relieved to escape, to get away from Lance’s irritating jibes and Allura’s worried looks. And away from the breathless pain that made him choke every time he caught sight of that dusky pink scar on Shiro’s cheek and the silver glint of his prosthetic.

He doesn’t anticipate how it would look to his team though. Another stupid mistake.

Allura catches him in the hall, early in the hours before their first free practice session. He’d avoided them until now. Dinner with the core team used to be a pre-race weekend ritual, sampling the cuisine of whatever region of the world they had landed in and it was a work-talk free night. Keith had looked forward to it usually, but last night he just couldn’t face them.

He couldn’t wait to get his helmet back on and hide behind his visor.

“Keith, I have… I have to ask. As the team principle and… and as your friend-“

“Ask what?”

She’s still holding onto his arm and he has to fight the urge to throw her off. He can’t stand the contact, the warmth she’s trying to show him when he knows he’s so undeserving of it.

“Is the Blade team trying to poach you? Are you going to leave us? Because you still have two years owing on your contract-“

“No,” he cuts her off. He stares at her helplessly. “No, I… I’m not leaving.”

She exhales heavily and her hand drops away. “Then why are you pulling away from us?”

He doesn’t answer. The ground under his feet is suddenly fascinating. Allura places a hand over her heart, absently rubbing her chest as though she has an ache there. He can sympathise. It’s felt like he’s had an ache there every day since the accident.

“I brought him back because I thought… I thought if we just had the team together again, the original team, that we’d-“

“It can never be the same,” Keith says harshly. It hurts to say but he knows he’s right. He believes it.  “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

 

* * *

 

_The speculation around the crash is rampant, every commentator, every driver, every principle and fan all had their theories. What went wrong, who was at fault? Should there be penalties, should there be stricter regulations in place? How could they stop it from happening again?_

_Keith ignores it all._

_It didn’t matter if racing body that governed their sport changed anything, it wouldn’t matter to Shiro. Shiro who had his career cut so brutally short and in such spectacular and public fashion. It was horribly unfair and Keith doesn’t sleep for weeks pained about his own part played in it._

_If only he could turn back time, go back, take back that pitstop, take back that radio call, and maybe Shiro wouldn’t be in that hospital bed._

_Keith’s phone trills but he ignores it. He ignores the ache inside when he sees Shiro’s name flash at him._

_What could he say? There was nothing that could make it better._

 

* * *

The last race before the summer break doesn’t go as badly as it could have and Allura wonders what the hell has happened to her team that when the checkered flag snaps in the wind that this is the first thought she has.

Neither driver had made it to the podium, but at least both drivers had finished the race without colliding.

She pulls the headset off her head and lays it on the bench space in front of the monitors. Her back aches from two hours of nonstop tension from perching on her stool on the pit wall and monitoring the race and the team. Shiro sits beside her, jaw tight but he gives her a rueful smile and the understanding flows between them.

_Could have been worse._

“At least they finished the race,” Shiro says with a small shrug.  “Now we have four weeks break. Maybe some time off will help.”

She knows he’s talking about Keith. Lance is in his element, the only thing he needs is more time on the track to solidify his position. At this rate, the summer break of the racing season might actually be a hindrance to his momentum.  She tries not to let herself think about how he’ll spend it.

Probably on some beach somewhere surrounded by a bevy of beautiful girls.

She’s immediately irritated at herself for the wayward thought.

“Yes, I do hope so,” she sighs. The bustle that comes with the completion of a race starts to catch them up and they end up carried along with the crowd towards the presentation area. It hurt to see another team up there on the podium but she refused to be a sore loser and makes a pointed effort to congratulate the other teams on their wins. She can feel Shiro at her back doing the same and somehow it makes it easier to know he’s shouldered some of her burden.

Bringing him back had definitely been the right choice.

Hours later and the entire team is crowded into the meeting room. She waits for the chatter to settle with Shiro at her side, and Keith and Lance lounging on two chairs nearby.  When she raises her hands, the room quietens. 

“Thank you, everyone. Now, I realise that this has… this hasn’t been our best season,” and suddenly the words don’t seem to sit right on her tongue. She casts a sideways glance at Shiro, thinking about what he’s endured, what’s changed for him, the way the team has had to move on and how badly they’ve done it.  He looks serene, gazing at her patiently and her heart aches a little in her chest.

She doesn’t realise she’s stopped talking until he steps up and takes over she has to cover her mouth and draw in a deep breath to compose herself.

Lance touches her hand with a questioning look and when she glances at him, their fingers curl together briefly before she lets go.

She doesn’t see Keith watching them.

 

* * *

 

_“I’ve never seen teammates be such good friends,” the reporter squawks, quickly trailing after Keith as he makes his way through the pit lane after a satisfying free practice. “It’s unheard of in this sport!”_

_Keith struggles to hold back his grin. It has nothing to do with the reporter and everything to do with the other driver walking towards him, race suit donned and a smirk on his face that makes Keith recall every kiss and grind against him the night before in vivid, technicolour visions behind his eyes._

_His body still bares the marks from that mouth under his race suit._

_“Hey, rookie.”_

_“Hi, champ.”_

_“Shiro!” the reporter is delighted to have them both in his sights. He shoves his microphone closer. “How are you feeling ahead of this race today? You’re in flying form and only a handful of wins away from another championship. That must feel good?”_

_“It does,” Shiro smiles easily. “The car feels good, the team is fantastic, we’re expecting a good outcome ahead of this race.”_

_He slides Keith a glance he knows is just for him and flush steals over him. They’ve not talked about what has sprung up between them. In the blink of an eye, they had moved seamlessly from teammates to teammates with benefits. Keith tucked their private secret away when they were racing, knowing that when the adrenaline settled down, they would have a chance to unpack it and revel in it._

_But they kept it well hidden in the public eye, or so they had thought._

_“I was just commenting to Keith here that I’ve never seen teammates get along so well.  What do you make of the rumours that the two of you are more than just teammates?”_

_Keith freezes, his mouth dropping open in surprise. Shiro answers smoothly, a light laugh that Keith knows is forced. He doesn’t look at Keith._

_“Of course, we are more than teammates, we’re friends too.”_

 

* * *

 

“You son of a bitch,” Keith hisses the moment the rest of the team files out and they’re left alone. Before Lance can shoulder pass him, Keith grabs a fistful of his uniform and slams Lance into the wall. His head connects with a dull thud and Keith almost snarls in satisfaction at the widening of Lance’s eyes.

“Keith, what the hell? Get off me!”

Lance struggles in his grip and Keith presses him harder into the wall. He swallows roughly, reaching for his voice through the thunder of his heartbeat. 

“Stay the fuck away from her.”

“Or what?” Lance snaps defiantly. He glares at Keith in rage. His hands are balled into fists at his side but Keith knows he won’t take a swing. He won’t because he’s fucking _guilty._

“She’s married, asshole.”

“Fuck you, Keith.”

“She’s not one of your track bunnies-“

“What, so you can stick your dick where you want to in the team but I can’t?”

Keith punches him for that, rearing back one fist and connecting it with Lance’s jaw with a loud crack before Lance even realises what’s happening. Lance’s head snaps to the side and blood falls from his split lip. Keith swears, but not as much as Lance as he stumbles back.

“That’s Allura, you asshole. _Allura._ Don’t you dare-“

“Keith, stop.”

The weary way Lance says it as he touches his jaw makes Keith pause. Lance looks at him with an expression that’s almost pained, and not from the punch. “It’s not what you think.”

“What is it then? She’s married. She’s married to _Lotor_ , the guy that owns this goddamn team and-“

“I love her!” Lance shouts it and his chest heaves as he sucks in air. His voice gets quiet. “I love her, okay.”

Of all the things he’d expected to hear today, that wasn’t one of them. Keith falters. “What?”

“I love her, Keith,” Lance says again, this time with determination as though he’s trying to convince himself and not just Keith. Like it’s the first time he’s ever said it. “I’m not fucking around.”

Keith’s brain seems to stumble. “But… But what about all those girls you’re always with?”

Lance rolls his eyes. He shakes his head in something that looks like disappointment, but it’s a slow movement from the punch. The blood stains his teeth.  “Fans, admirers,” he says. “I’m not stupid enough to take them home. When was the last time you ever saw me date. I mean, really date.”  Lance pauses and he looks at Keith pointedly.  “About the same time you last did, huh?”

What? Keith frowns. He has never dated, not anyone serious enough to indulge in this whirlwind lifestyle they had. He didn’t want to anyway, not when he already had all he wanted in the next garage over and-

Oh.

Lance waits for the realisation to hit him and when it does, Keith sags in defeat. He knows what it feels like. What it’s like to be ruined for anyone else. He steps back, looking at Lance in a different light. Easier to look at Lance than look at himself.

“What about Lotor?” Keith finally asks.

“It wasn’t a love match. You know that.”

Keith can’t argue. He had long suspected Lotor married Allura for her pedigree on the circuit and she in turn for access to his deep pockets to bring her father’s team back to life.

“He pays our salaries,” Keith says stupidly. His brain is still trying to shift through the ramifications.

“I know! I know, alright!” Lance lets out a shaky sound that might have been a laugh but it’s too pain filled to be much more than a shudder. He stares at Keith with an expression Keith had never seen on him before.

He looks sad, almost wistful. His voice cracks enough that it cuts right into Keith’s heart. “You’re not the only one who loves someone they can’t have.”

 

* * *

 

_Physical fitness is as important to a racing driver as it is to a fighter pilot, maybe even more so. They’ve slogged it out through another training session, sprawled on the gym’s floor drenched in sweat and exhausted when Keith finally manages to catch his breath enough to ask the question that’s been on the back of his mind for weeks._

_He tries to make it sound casual, like he doesn’t really care what the answer will be. But he does. So much._

_“Any plans for the summer break?”_

_It takes Shiro a moment to answer. He’s already caught his breath, of course he has. He’s just enjoying the rubber flooring under his back as his flushed skin slowly returns to normal. Just the sight of him is enough to make Keith’s stomach twist. He’d call it lust but… he’s starting to realise it might be something else._

_Shiro rolls nimbly and sits up, holding out a hand to Keith. Keith reaches for him and their palms connect and then he’s sitting up too. Shiro doesn’t let go of his hand._

_“Maybe,” he says. He catches Keith’s eye and doesn’t look away. “What about you?”_

_Keith’s finds himself still breathless when Shiro’s thumb soothes over the back of his hand. Shiro holds his gaze.  “I… I asked you first.”_

_Shiro tugs on that hand to reel him closer and Keith doesn’t hesitate. “I was thinking we could find a nice beach together. A private island with no reporters or fans or bossy team principles.”_

_Keith laughs. “Don’t let Allura hear you say that.”_

_“Shh,” Shiro cups his jaw. “She’d take pride in it and you know it.”_

_“I’m not going to risk finding out,” Keith answers. He’s still breathless, especially when Shiro leans forward to kiss him. He tastes salty from sweat and it immediately gets Keith’s body surging._

_“So,” Shiro says between kisses. Keith feels drunk on them. Between the bone-weary exhaustion and the soft, chaste presses of Shiro’s mouth, he feels dizzy. “What do you say?”_

_“Aren’t you sick of me yet?” Keith murmurs. It carries a faint echo of curiosity. As though he’s not sure why someone like Shiro would want to spend so much time with him._

_“No,” Shiro pulls back. The hand on Keith’s cheek slides around, the pads of his fingers sliding over his mouth. It’s nothing to part his lips and suck a digit into his mouth and he watches in satisfaction as Shiro’s eyes go from sweetly soft and indulgent, to dark and hard and hungry. Shiro’s voice gets hoarse. “It seems I can’t get enough of you, Keith.”_

 

* * *

“Um. So… what’s with Keith and Lance?” Hunk asks. “They’re freaking me out.”

Hunk stands at Allura’s elbow on Lance’s side of the garage watching as Keith and Lance talk animatedly to Pidge about their cars. For once there’s no swearing, no filthy looks, no under current of animosity. It’s probably the longest Keith has gone in Lance’s presence without storming away. 

Even Pidge looks mildly perturbed.

“I’m not sure, but this has to be a positive step forward,” Allura answers. “They actually seem to be talking to each other instead of just fighting.”

She tries not to let the flutter of hope in her chest grow too large. She had been close to resigning herself to the fact this new team might never get along, and she had grave fears the rivalry might spill over into the pit crew as well.

But this… This was a good sign. She turns to Shiro, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Again, the silver hand he now sports is hard to ignore. 

“Shiro, what did you say to him?”

He shakes his head. “I doubt it was anything I said. Keith barely looks at me these days.”

Allura looks back over.  She has no idea what’s changed, but she’ll take it.

 

* * *

 

The first half of the season winds down but it’s not until they return to their home base where so much of the Voltron team’s crew work diligently behind the scenes that it really sinks in how much Keith has been fucking up.

Allura has them all gathered on the floor of the factory, the workshop stilled for her pep talk to the team. It’s hard to see their dejected faces, all the work they’ve been putting in while he loses his cool on the track.

Shiro’s warning lies at the back of his thoughts like a hungry lion, ready to pounce on the feast of his self-doubt.

Allura hands Shiro the mic and their faces change, and as Shiro starts to speak, Keith realises he needs to step up. He needs to make amends. 

Shiro thanks them all for their hard work and encourages them to stay positive. Lance interjects with a few humorous quips and the mood shifts slightly. Not quite enough, Keith can feel their eyes on him and some of the expressions in their gazes feels enough like recriminations that he reaches for the mic.

Shiro’s hands brush his as he takes it and he treasures the slight contact.

“I… Uh… I want to apologize to the team. To every single one of you,” he says. His voice sounds thick and he’s sure his hands shake in a way they never have when standing in front of a crowd before. He needs this to matter. He needs them to understand. “I’ve let you down this season. I’m sorry. But I promise, I’m going to work as hard as I possibly can to turn it around.”

He looks around at their faces again. The shift is subtle, but he feels it.  “The rest of the season will be different. I swear.”

 

* * *

 

_Keith waits near the bar on the rooftop, watching the way the lights in the infinity pool change colours under the water. The sky is the deepest blue above him and pretty, twinkling fairy lights line the palm trees, lending a tropical vibe to the party. There’s a huge crowd tonight, the music is loud and pumping and guests dance to a popular DJ’s tunes and almost all the grid is here to celebrate the end of the season._

_But Keith is only interested in one person._

_It takes him a while to spy him in the crowd, a smile stealing over his lips when he finally spots him only to slip when he realises he’s not alone._

_Of course, he’s not. Why would he be? The world champion will be in hot demand tonight and Keith already monopolised enough of his time during the race season to realise it would be selfish to expect more. He wonders what this means for them. They were bed mates as well as teammates._

_Or maybe that only applied during race season._

_There’s only so much Keith can watch of the fawning before his stomach churns enough to urge him back to his hotel room.  He pauses briefly to say goodnight to Allura, who kisses him lightly on the cheek. She’s well and truly on her way to celebration town alongside Hunk and Pidge, the champagne glass in her hand definitely not her first of the night, before he makes his way to the bank of elevators._

_“Hey, where are you going?”_

_“Heading back to the room, why?” he asks in confusion. He’s surprised to see Shiro here. The music and the party is dull and muted beyond the glass and the short hallway. Shiro must have seen him leave and followed him. Keith isn’t sure what to feel about that.  “Why aren’t you at your party?”_

_“My party?” Shiro looks amused. He also takes a step closer. Too close into Keith’s personal space not to be deliberate._

_“Mr World Champion,” Keith answers with a lift of his brow. “Your fans are waiting.”_

_“Couldn’t have done it without you.”_

_Keith snorts with a twist of his lips. “Remember that the next time you brake check me on a hot lap.”_

_Shiro tilts his head back to laugh before drawing closer. He’s suddenly crowding Keith against the wall. It couldn’t look like anything but a seduction and Keith’s senses flare._

_“Shiro,” he says in warning. He can’t see past the bulk of Shiro’s shoulders. If someone came down the hallway right now, they’d see Shiro leaning over him, his face tilted until their mouths were barely a breath apart. “What are you doing? Someone might see us.”_

_Shiro’s eyes glitter. He shifts minutely closer. He’s a wall of solid heat Keith wants to run head first into. “Don’t you ever want more, Keith?”_

_Keith opens his mouth to answer but the elevator doors ping and Shiro unfolds from his lean and steps away so smoothly he might never have been there at all. The smile on his face is bland when the well-heeled crowd steps out of the lift and rush for his attention._

_Keith doesn’t look back as he slips into the lift alone, just as the doors slide shut behind him._

 

* * *

 

The grey sky outside makes it easier for Keith to lock himself away in the driving simulators in the factory. He spends hours on them and when he’s not there, he’s pushing through his workouts with determination. When he’s exhausted his body enough, he talks to the engineers, the ones that don’t make it to the away races and perched on a stool in the workshop beside a dismantled car is where Shiro finds him a week into the summer break.

“Aren’t you supposed to be relaxing on a beach somewhere, drinking cocktails right now?” Shiro says.

“Just trying to get a jump on the rest of the season.”

To anyone else, that might have worked but Shiro knows him well enough that he merely looks a him, one eyebrow half raised.

“You were right,” he says later as they walk through the halls. “I need to get my head on straight.”

“You’re a good racer, Keith. Incredible. You always have been. I’m looking forward to the day you hold that trophy up.”

Keith doesn’t answer.   

“Don’t doubt yourself,” Shiro replies. The way they walk together feels different. Much more like old times, before the accident. Back like when they were just learning their way around each other in the early days of the team. Shiro had been patient then too. Ruthless on the track, challenging, but fair. The harder he pushed Keith, the better Keith became. The harder Keith pushed back, the more they honed their skills.

“It’s not a matter of doubting,” Keith mutters under his breath. And it’s not. He knows what he’s capable of, he knows what is out there for him to achieve if he’s just patient enough to focus on the end game. But the crash that ripped Shiro’s future away from him was also the dousing of water over the flame in his belly.  It flickered, spluttered, and came back a bit weaker than before.

“Keith, I never got a chance to tell you this, but I was planning to step aside this year. Even before the crash happened.”

Keith stops in the middle of the hallway. The bright lights suddenly feel blinding and there’s nothing around them but glossy white. “What? Why?”

“Because it’s your turn now,” Shiro says. He says it in that infuriatingly placating tone that borders on a caress. Keith simultaneously misses and hates it so much. “And I want to do more than just race and collect trophies. I want to go to a smaller team, help develop them like we did with Voltron,” he looks at his hand.  “The decision just got made for me a little sooner than I expected.”

* * *

 

_“We did good last year, but this year we’re going to do better,” Shiro tells him. The airport’s private lounge is bustling with travellers and they sit on one of the small but comfortable couches that overlooks the tarmac. Planes take off and land as they wait and Keith tries to squash down the flutter of nerves in his gut._

_“Yeah? What, another championship wasn’t good enough for you?” Keith laughs but Shiro stares at him without smiling. The look in his eyes is searching. Keith doesn’t know what he’s looking for._

_“I’m not talking about racing.”_

* * *

 

“Do you miss it?” Keith asks him quietly. 

It’s a few days out from the season restart and the energy around the factory is starting to gear up. It’s hard not to get caught up in the buzz, especially when the results for the car’s new upgrades come back strong enough to get his heart thundering in his chest.

Keith stands beside him, arms folded across his chest as they watch the crew of mechanics and engineers shuffle about in the workshop below. It’s not your usual workshop, this one is pristine and modern and the viewing platform lends itself well to tours when sponsors visit.  It gives them a vantage point that allows them to get caught up in the action but not be in the way.

“Yeah,” Shiro says. He doesn’t hesitate. He’s honest with himself that he misses it. He misses the sounds and the feel of the g forces pushing him into his seat as he flies around the track. He misses the roar of the crowd when he sees the checkered flag waving and he crosses the line to victory.

He misses celebrating with Keith in hotel rooms all over the world, room service and champagne discarded to the side and Keith warm and naked beside him. He misses the way Keith would look at him, pride and wonder and a tightly held smile as Keith stroked his cheek.

He misses that more than anything.

Why didn’t they ever talk about what they were? Championships and his name in lights had been all he needed until he found something else that was priceless. Something else unquantifiable. It almost startles him to realise how easily he would give all those trophies up if it would mean that Keith would look at him the way he used to. The way he did before the crash.

“But not as much as I thought,” he adds after a moment.

Keith doesn’t answer as they watch one of the cars get jacked up. Hunk appears from the corner and yells something at the team, and once again they swarm. Shiro hardly see them, he’s too hyperaware of the man beside him.

He’s already lost so much, why not a little more. He takes a breath. “Not as much as I miss you.”

He hears Keith’s sharp inhale before he sees him shift. Keith’s arms drop to the side then he pulls them back up hurriedly, once again over his chest.  A slow glance at him tells Shiro he’s struggling to speak. Shiro fills the silence between them instead. It’s the elephant in the room. Shiro knows if they never address it, they’ll never move on.

They might not be lovers anymore but they still have to be teammates at least. And this… he needs to know. He needs to understand. He needs to believe that they way they fell together during their years of racing meant something.

“Why didn’t you come to see me in the hospital, Keith?”

It’s probably the wrong place to bring it up, standing on the balcony overlooking the workshop below. Keith’s hands fall to land on the railing, and his hands turn white as he grips it. His skin goes ashy, like he’s struggling not to be sick. 

“I… I did,” Keith answers. The words look like they’re stuck in his throat and it’s an effort him to get out.  Shiro’s traitorous heart leaps in his chest.

“You did?” he can’t keep the scepticism out of his voice. But then, he doesn’t remember much of the first couple of weeks. “I woke up, and you weren’t there.” 

“We were still racing,” Keith answers but it sounds feeble to both of them. “The season wasn’t finished. And.. It wasn’t… it wasn’t my place. Not after... not after what happened.”

And there it is. The confirmation of all Shiro’s suspicions. He almost wants to laugh in relief. Because this… this he could fix.

“Baby,” he whispers and Keith’s head snaps to him, his eyes wide at the endearment he’s only heard a handful of times before, and certainly not like this. Shiro almost wants to call it back but something in Keith’s expression tells him to step closer so he does. Just one step but it’s enough that Keith lets go of the railing and turns to face him. “Keith, please tell me you haven’t been blaming yourself after all this time.”

“It was my fault.”

“No,” Shiro shakes his head. He’s flooded with disbelief. “No, Keith. Jesus, didn’t you watch the replays? It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was an accident. You know as well as I do what risks we take getting in those cars. How many times had I crashed before that? How many times have you? It’s part of the job, that risk-“

“I know,” Keith cuts him off harshly. His chin juts out stubbornly but he’s looking at a space over Shiro’s shoulder. “I know all that.”

“Then stop blaming yourself,” Shiro sighs. His hand twitches and he gives in to the need. He places his hand on Keith’s shoulder and Keith flinches under the touch briefly, then he melts into it.

It gives Shiro hope.

“The crash wasn’t your fault, Keith,” Shiro says softly.  He’s still conscious of the mechanics and engineers working below.  None of them seem to pay them much attention but Shiro uses their presence as an excuse not to pull Keith into his arms. He wants to, he’s just not sure how it would be received. 

“That’s bullshit,” Keith whispers. His voice cracks and he leans half an inch closer. Shiro can feel him straining, trying to hold himself back and he takes that moment to steer him off the balcony and out into the hall.  Keith sags against the wall, half turning his face away. There’s a quiver to his chin that shoots straight to Shiro’s heart.

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding me? You’ve been going off the rails because of me?” Shiro finally asks. He doesn’t trust himself to touch him. He might never stop if he does.

“That pit was supposed to have been yours, but you stayed out because I needed it. If you hadn’t, your tyres wouldn’t have blown-“

“That’s enough, Keith. Stop it.”

Keith’s eyes are shiny under his dark hair and the guilt that fills them makes Shiro weak at the knees. Keith was a racer, he knew the risks. He knew how much they put their lives on the line every time they went out on the track. They flirted with the edge of speed daily and accidents were common. They were expected.  But for Keith to take the blame for this on himself-

Shiro reaches out to him, one hand, his still human one, comes to rest against the nape of Keith’s neck. The soft strands of his hair feel like silk against his skin and it brings up a memory of their time before, of the way they used to curl around each other so tightly. God, he misses it. He misses _them._ He didn’t know what they had until it was gone, ripped away from him as violently as his arm was.

Shiro steps close and bends, touching their foreheads together because his throat is suddenly too tight to speak. It’s so heavy in his chest, the sadness, the loss, the love he still felt inside even though Keith didn’t want him anymore.

He can’t even forgive him, because there’s nothing to forgive.

“I’m sorry,” Keith shudders it out and Shiro squeezes his eyes shut in sorrow.

He knows Keith’s not talking about the crash.

 

* * *

 

_Keith’s on his knees, Shiro’s tautly muscled thighs under his palms. They quiver with each lick and taste and Shiro moans so low and quiet and rough it makes Keith swallow him further down his throat._

_“Keith. Keith, oh my god, baby-“_

_The soft encouragement makes him go deeper, deeper until Shiro can’t hold himself back anymore and Keith draws him closer, savouring the taste of him on his tongue, the scent of him under his nose.  Shiro pants, his hands combing through Keith’s hair as Keith lays his head against his thigh in the aftermath._

_They don’t talk. Not even when Shiro pulls him up and tucks him against his chest, his lips pressed to Keith’s forehead._

_What was there to say anyway._

 

* * *

 

Allura can’t put her finger on it but things are different when the season resumes after the summer break.  Lance comes back looking darker skinned than ever, but he proudly shows her photos of his copious nieces and nephews and talks happily about his family and their idyllic life on the beach. It’s on the tip of her tongue to ask if that’s the only place he spent his time, trying to tell herself she wasn’t jealous he might have been buried between some other woman’s thighs but when she catches sight of her own reflection, the lie is all over her face.

Shiro seems quieter, more serious. He spends less time in the team garage and more time out in the paddock playing the social game. He fields a few interviews for the press, sweet talks a few sponsors. Suddenly their team has an income stream that isn’t dependant solely on her husband. It gives her the faintest fledging hope of a future free of Lotor’s demands.

Keith comes back with a renewed fire in his eyes and a determination to his lips. He’s much more the Keith she recognized from their previous seasons, but sharper and more focused than ever.

It doesn’t take her long to realise he’s looking for redemption.

He’s a force to be reckoned with now. The upgrades Hunk and Pidge had presented on the new cars gives them even more speed down the straight but the downforce they need to take the corners faster.  Lance and Keith both start to claw their way back to the top of the grid although it’s not without their issues.

There are still crashes, still fights, but at least it’s not between her drivers. She’s grateful for that.

“I’m not sure what’s changed, but I’m impressed with how you’re working with Lance now,” she comments to Keith one night towards the back end of the season.  He’s travelling with them again, even tolerating Lance to a certain point even when they’re out of their cars. It’s enough of a change that the media start to notice the way they’re more at ease with each other during interviews and promotional activities.  Keith even starts to smile.

“He’s okay,” Keith shrugs.  He distracted pulling the top off his water bottle.  “He’s better now he’s not trying so hard.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed that,” Allura answers.  “He doesn’t even seem to have the usual entourage that follows him around anymore. What? What is it?” she demands when she catches the glimmer of a smile on his lips. It’s suspicious and surprising enough on Keith that it makes her sit upright in her seat.  “Why are you smiling like that?”

Keith’s lips twitch again. It’s startling to realise he’s teasing her. Could she be lucky enough to have both Shiro and Keith back so soon? This was much closer to the Keith when he first joined the team.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Maybe someone has caught his eye and the chase doesn’t hold the same interest anymore.”

An odd thing to say for a racing driver. She frowns. “Are you talking about Shiro?”

Keith lets out a bark of laughter but it sounds a little bit bitter. “No. I’m not.”

 

* * *

 

Qualifying has Keith in the garage, tucked in amongst the pit crew mechanics as they bustle around the car. It’s not time to get out on track yet, so he’s focusing on the stats and telemetries Pidge and Hunk are showing him as he sips on water to keep hydrated ahead of an afternoon in the car.

If it wasn’t for his mass of dark hair and the race suit half tied around his waist, he’d be hard to spot in amongst the black livery of the pit crew.

Hunk spots him first. “Hey Shiro.”

Keith turns and his face lights up when he sees Shiro and Shiro’s glad that it does. It’s infinitely preferable than seeing that haunted, pinched darkness from a few weeks ago.

“Hey, champ,” Keith says it so casually, so comfortably Shiro has the odd sensation of falling back in time. He wants to respond in kind but he can’t, not when those days were long gone. Keith isn’t a rookie anymore. Not even close.

“How are you feeling ahead of qualifying?”

Keith shrugs. “The car looks good. Still a touch of understeer but Pidge says it’s to be expected with the fuel loads we’re running. I’m taking her word on it.”

“She knows what she’s doing,” Shiro replies and Keith nods in agreement.

They’d talked over the summer break back at the factory, but it hadn’t been enough. There was still an undercurrent of something not quite right between them.  Shiro had been through breakups before, but he’d never had to keep working with them once the relationship had run its course.

Then again, he’d never continued to hold a torch for anyone like this before.

Were they broken up? Were they even together in the first place? He hates the weird limbo they seem to be in around each other and he knows Keith hates it too.

If he can’t have his… bed mate? fuck buddy? lover? back... he at least wanted his friend.

“Are you going to monitor from the pit wall with Allura?” Keith asks. He doesn’t look at Shiro as he says it.

“Yeah, Lance asked for some pointers.”

There’s another awkward beat between them and for a heartstopping moment, something familiar flashes in Keith’s eye that has Shiro holding his breath, but then it’s gone and Keith’s expression shutters once again. It’s a rather cool reminder they aren’t what they were before.

Shiro forces a smile and moves to step away. He’s sure it’s just his imagination that has Keith looking sad. “Good luck out there today.”

 

* * *

 

_“What’s up? Can’t sleep?”_

_Keith blinks as the lamp flickers on and he has to shade his eyes against the brightness. “Ugh, really? I was just enjoying the view.”_

_Shiro crosses the room, stopping behind him to place his wide hands on Keith’s shoulders. He’s shirtless and he can feel every callous on his palm as Shiro slides them down his arms. Keith shivers at the touch._

_“Come back to bed. I’ll take your mind off the nerves.”_

_“Aren’t you nervous too?”_

_Shiro pauses. “Yeah. I am. There’s a lot riding on tomorrow.”_

_“And after?” Keith wonders. When the season’s over and they finally have a chance to breathe. Will they see each other? Or is this just a strictly race season thing?  “Are we going to… hang out?”_

_Shiro laughs. “Of course. We’re friends, aren’t we?”_

_Friends. Right._

 

* * *

 

On the morning of the next race, Lance strides through the paddock, disgusting energy drink in hand to keep their sponsors happy and a pair of reflective sunglasses on to hide the smirk in his eyes. It’s slow going, he’s stopped every few meters by someone wanting to chat, or to take a photo or sign an autograph, but he loves it. He thrives on the attention.

But it’s the attention of one woman in particular he really wants and he spies her walking in his direction right now.

“Princess!” he calls out as they get close. She’s so focused on the tablet in her hand she almost doesn’t see him. She glances up just as they pass each other and he spins and starts walking backwards, hands out with his most charming smile on his face. “How about a kiss for good luck?”

He can see her fighting the urge to smile and it makes him grin wider. She’s warming to him, he thinks. Slowly, but she is.

Not that it can ever go anywhere.

“Come on,” he coaxes, mostly just to tease. The paddock is swarming with people and a hundred pairs of eyes on them. She looks so serious in her team colours, black and white but trimmed with a pretty feminine pink. It looks incredible against her skin, but then anything would.

She pauses for a moment then half rolls her eyes and blows him a kiss. It’s more than he expects but he makes a show of snatching it out of the air and tapping his fist against his heart with a warm smile he reserves only for her. Her cheeks go adorably pink and he laughs as he spins back around to head to the pits.

He might not win the race, but maybe in another reality he might win something else.

 

* * *

 

“Shiro, thank you for joining us on the show once again.”

“Thanks, Coran. Happy to be here.”

“I know I say it every time, but it’s a joy to see you back in the paddock after that horrific accident last season. How does it feel to be back?”

Shiro had been expecting this line of questioning, even though he’s fielded hundreds of others just like it in the months since he’s been back with the team. It’s a little disappointing to realise that despite the row of championship titles under his belt, his accident is still going to be the first thing people think of when they hear his name.

“It’s great to be back, it’s great to be home. The team is like my family, I love being with them.”

“I hear around the track that you’ve been mentoring both drivers. Has that been a recent development? The turn around in their pace and their skill on the track has been nothing sort of stupendous! With only one race left of the season, the championship could still be anyone’s! It’s makes for exciting racing!”

“Yes, it does. I have no doubt our boys will bring it home though.”

“Yes, yes,” Coran agrees, nodding his head. His impressive moustache bounces merrily as he talks.  “But you must admit it will be a challenge? Keith, especially, will start off on the back foot with at least one penalty. How do think he’s feeling about that right now?”

“He’ll be feeling the pressure, there’s no doubt about that. Keith’s going to have to drive for his life no matter where he qualifies later today. But he can do it. He’s the only one who can.”

Coran eyes him speculatively.  “Well,” he drawls.  “You heard it here first! So you’ll placing your bet on Keith to take the championship this year?”

Shiro laughs. “You bet I am.”

 

* * *

 

_“What are you going to do when I finally snatch your title?” Keith teases, shaking the soap suds out of his hair and then dunking his head back under the spray of the shower._

_“You’re sounding mighty confident there, rookie,” Shiro pulls him in, his hands curling around Keith’s biceps then quickly knocking his ankle enough that he almost stumbles. Keith finds himself planted firmly against the wall, the tiles cold against his back._

_“Hey,” he protests, but it’s breathless and shamefully weak. Shiro’s eyes are dark as he lowers his head to capture Keith’s mouth and Keith waits all of a heartbeat before throwing an arm around Shiro’s neck and hauling him in closer. Their wet bodies slide together so easily, their fit like two pieces of a puzzle and it’s good. It’s so fucking good Keith couldn’t imagine how it could be better._

_Shiro doesn’t stop kissing him, not until his lips are bruised and their legs shake and he still doesn’t stop kissing him when his big hand curls around Keith’s cock and pulls him off until he spurts across their chests and he can’t stand._

_“You can have it,” Shiro murmurs against his hair later, when he’s on his back and gasping for breath and clutching weakly at Shiro’s damp skin as Shiro pounds into him. “You can have anything you want.”_

 

* * *

 

The tension before the final race is palpable, enough that it makes Keith and Lance snap at each other in the driver briefing, once again fuelling rumours of an intense rivalry within the team. Shiro isn’t concerned by that, knowing it was the pressure that was making them spark and snarl at each other. And it wasn’t a bad thing, not really. It would do them both good to have some fire in their bellies for the final race of the season ahead.

They’re so close to the end now and even though they’ve clawed back a lot of points, the battle for the championship is still up for grabs. Todays race will round off the season… and crown the new champion.

He joins Allura at the pit wall, sliding into position between her and Pidge and shifting the headset over his head. The wall of monitors is already pumping and spewing out he data and information they need to keep an eye on and he runs his eyes over the tablet Pidge shoves at him wordlessly, detailing the different strategies each driver would use.

It was going to be a tough race. Lance was starting from a measly fourth position which had him on the third row of the grid, close enough to the front that he just might snag a jump into the lead if his start was good enough, but close enough to the midfield that it wouldn’t take much for him to get caught up in any race start carnage.  There was a very real possibility his race could be over before it even started.

Keith was even further down the grid, the spare chassis rebuilt with superhuman speed by Hunk and his team after a violent shunt in the previous race also meant a new engine and a new gearbox. The penalties that incurred meant his starting position was pushed even further down the field until he was almost in last place.

It wasn’t impossible to win from that position, but it would be tough and both drivers would need to drive smart and fast.

Shiro knew they could do it.

Allura scans the strategy plans over her shoulder and they briefly discuss a few finer points when a cool voice no one expected suddenly materializes beside them.

“Lotor,” Allura says in surprise. Her expression immediately turns guarded. “What are you doing here? How did you get access to this area?”

He lifts a fine silver brow and his lips quirk in a faintly sarcastic smirk. “I do own the team, my dear. It’s the last race of the season, we’re in a position to win both championships. I feel that I am obligated to be here.”

Shiro narrows his eyes at the other man.  “You never bothered any other year,” he says.

Lotor barely spares him a glance. He slides onto the seat on Allura’s other side. “Let’s enjoy this race, shall we? I would like to see where my money is going.”

 

* * *

 

On the track, the cars swarm with the crew and media ahead of the race start. Hunk has had to split his time between Lance’s machine at the front and his at the back but he lingers longer at Keith’s side.

Lance strolls past but pauses long enough to reach a fist out to Keith. He’s got his game face on and it’s a far cry from the wide grin he usually sports. “Good luck, man.”

“Yeah,” Keith knocks his fist against his.  “You too.”

Lance gives him a tight smile and a moment of understanding flows between them. They might never be friends, their competition is too fierce for that, but they can at least respect each other.

Keith can live with that.

 

* * *

 

The lights flash down and the cars launch off their starting lines. Shiro watches on the monitors with bated breath as Lance holds it together as cars beside him and in front of him collect minor impact, spraying debris over the track. His wing gets clipped but he doesn’t lose his position and the car is in good enough shape that he can stay out until it’s time for him to pit.

Keith has a harder time at the back end. He cuts through the lower end of the field with ease, the black streak of speed he drives is too fast for any of the lower end teams to dare hope to compete against and by the time they are a quarter of the race through, Keith’s managed to fight his way into the outer limits of the top ten.

“That’s it, Keith, you’re doing great,” Shiro says into the mic.  Keith’s response is a breathless grunt and a demand for an update on track temperatures from Pidge.

“You’re good,” Allura tells him. “But it’s time to put the power down now. You need another three seconds to pit.”

“Copy that.”

A handful of laps later and Keith lays purple down in all his sectors. Pidge’s face is split wide from grinning, pride at the added speed and downforce her and Hunk’s new upgrades were offering.  Shiro studies the readouts in front of him, watches the stats tick over. Then he issues his command.

“Box, box, box!”

Keith streaks his car into the pit lane, the rev limiter screams as the engine’s latent power beats against it. The car slides into the box and the pit crew launch into action. Allura and Shiro turn away from the wall of monitors to watch the stop, holding their breath as the trolley jack boosts the car and fresh tyres go on. The zap and whine of the wheel guns fill the air then the car drops down and Keith is in released back into the fray in the blink of an eye.

The entire stop takes less than three seconds and Allura laughs in delight.

Back on the screen, the cameras follow Keith as he merges back into the field, leap frogging him over a number of cars and propelling him even further up the field. The stop provided him with fresh tyres, a softer compound that doesn’t have the resilience but that has the speed to propel him through the rest of the field until he’s edging ever closer to where Lance coasts in the lead, unable to push too hard on weak tyres.

“Lance, Keith is coming up on you. He has fresher tyres, he’s going to be faster than you,” Shiro warns the other driver.

Lance’s response is breathless and short with incredulity. “Are you telling me to move over?!”

Allura catches his eye and Shiro hesitates. It would be a sure thing to force Lance to yield to Keith, to lay down those team orders and watch as Keith slips past and coasts to victory.

But neither driver, nor the fans watching the race would thank him for it.

“Yes,” Lotor says and both Allura and himself snap their gazes to him. Lotor isn’t plugged in on the driver’s channel so Lance can’t hear him.

“Shiro? Allura?” Lance sounds annoyed now, waiting for an answer. Keith creeps closer, taking a peek around one turn until Lance shifts his car back onto the racing line and blocks him out.

“Allura,” Lotor’s hand encircles Allura’s wrist. His tone is low, vaguely menacing. “Implement team orders. Your drivers cannot be trusted. If they collide, then there goes Voltron’s chance at taking the championship. You will see very abruptly how quickly I will pull support should Voltron lose.”

“Lotor, please,” Allura whispers. Shiro’s never seen her beg before and it makes his heart twist.  The commentator is hollering in the video feed.

_“-and now we have teammates side by side, oh! This is racing, ladies and gentlemen, this is racing at it’s finest-“_

“Let them race, Lotor,” he says. “They can do it.”

Another moment passes and Lance squawks for instruction again as Keith harries him from behind.  His defence is sloppy, not quite committed. It’s going to shred their tyres even more they won’t make it to the end of the race if they don’t commit to this.

“I trust them, Lotor,” Allura says again. Lotor’s gaze flickers and he steps back.  Allura breathes a sigh of relief.

“You’re racing, Lance. Keith, you’re free to attack-“

Before he’s even finished speaking, Keith’s car lunges but Lance is already prepared for him. The chicane is too tight and Keith is forced to back off until the next turn.  The run down the straight has both cars evenly matched, although Lance starts to struggle for grip.

All the while, the crowd roars and Shiro’s heart is in his throat.

“Come on, Keith,” he murmurs under his breath.

He prays that Lance and Keith’s newfound respect off the track will translate to onto the track as well. If it’s not, and they duke too hard they take each other out, then any chance of the championship will be lost, Lotor will pull his funding and-

They’re fighting again.

Each move Keith makes, Lance deftly blocks until Keith nails his run into the corner. It brings them dangerously close and Shiro tenses in anticipation of a collision but Lance backs away just in time. It’s wheel to wheel action that has the crowd roaring.

Less than a heartbeat later, Keith shoots past with a whoop over the airwaves.   

 

* * *

 

The checkered flag waves frantically as he flies over the finish line.

Shiro’s voice fills his ears and there’s no mistaking the pride even through the static of the radio.

“You did it, Keith! You did it! You’re the new world champion!”

Keith whoops, laughing breathlessly in his helmet. He backs off the throttle, and as he slows, Lance appears beside him and the two of them wave to the crowd as they coast around the track back to scrutineering, Keith pausing long enough to burn a few wheelies for the crowd’s benefit.  Smoke billows up around him and then he’s parking the car, sliding it into position beside Lance’s machine, and the Sincline car in third place. The crowd is cheering but it’s not until he climbs onto the car and raises his fist into the air that the applause fully erupts and he’s suddenly crying behind his visor.

He did it. They’d won.

 

* * *

 

Allura throws her arms around Shiro as both cars cross the line and they’re laughing and screaming and babbling their excitement into the comms even as the pit crew starts running for the podium. It’s the culmination of an entire season’s hard work, the safeguarding of Shiro’s legacy, and a nod to her father’s memory.

Team Voltron had dominated again, despite everything.

“They did it!” she laughs happily, letting go of Shiro long enough only to be slammed into another hug from Pidge and then in turn from Hunk. All of them crying and laughing and letting the sheer relief of their success tumble out in a wild mess of emotion.

Through it all, Lotor watches with a tight line across his lips.

“Congratulations, Allura. I’m pleased that my investment has once again been fruitful. I doubted you could do it without Shiro but I’m pleased to see I was wrong.”

He’s a pillar of ice in the warm celebrations and something inside her becomes bold.  The lioness behind her chest she had held tightly in check for so long snarls.

“Lotor,” she smiles politely at him and it’s as cool and as cutting as anything he’s ever given her. “I want a divorce.”

 

* * *

 

Lance throws his arms around him as they file into the ready room ahead of the podium presentations. Their helmets are off and they’re wiping off the sweat from their temples with plush white towels, chests still heaving in breathless excitement and joy. The Sincline driver in third place congratulates them both, her hand is small and delicate in his.

“Thanks, Acxa,” Keith says and she gives him a tight smile before moving away to take a bottle of water.

“Holy shit, man. We did it. We really did it,” Lance laughs and Keith finds himself laughing right along with him.

Shiro steps into the room but before Keith can talk to him, they’re being shuffled onto the stage.  Keith bounds up to the top step, waving to the crowd as they cheer.

It’s been a long year, a long awful year that had him doubting himself but he’d fought his way back to make the team proud. To make Shiro proud.

He’s handed his trophy and the celebrations start in earnest, champagne flying, music booming, the crowd constantly one huge roaring wave as they celebrate.  Lance lowers his bottle of champagne and grabs Keith’s hand, yanking him into a hard hug, slapping him on the back. They’re both sticky from the champagne and Keith has to strain to hear him over the noisy celebration around him.

“Hey, congratulations, man,” Lance says. There’s a warmth in his eyes Keith returns with a prick of emotion behind his chest. “Guess we do make a good team.”

“Yeah, I guess we do,” Keith answers, he still sounds a little breathless. 

They stare at each other for a moment longer, grins wide on their faces until Lance’s expression shifts. It turns into more of a smirk when he points at the trophy.

“Don’t get comfortable though,” he says. “Next season, I’m coming for you.”

The competitive spark inside him flares at the challenge. He grins, and he knows it’s faintly feral. “Can’t wait.”

They share another laugh, hugging one more time with hard slaps on their backs before Keith turns to Shiro, hovering at the edge of the stage and watching the celebrations with a wide smile. The constructor’s championship trophy is at his feet. Allura will be happy to see it displayed proudly in the factory back home once again.

Keith’s feet suddenly feel heavy but he forces them across the stage, moving them one by one until he’s in front of Shiro. The rest of the world seems to fade away until all he can see are Shiro’s warm grey eyes, shining with something that looks a lot like pride.

It’s all he’s ever wanted.

“Hey, champ,” Shiro says softly and in their private bubble, Keith hears it clearly. He feels weak under the press of his thundering heart.  “You did it. I’m proud of you.”

“You always believed in me,” Keith says after a pause. He’s having trouble trying to find his words.  The celebrations are still so loud, Lance is behind them in on the stage, posing for photos and throwing items into the crowd but Keith doesn’t pay attention to any of it. None of that matters.

“I more than believed in you, Keith.” Shiro smiles at him, but it’s sad.  “But you worked hard for this today. You earned it.”

Keith sees a flicker in Shiro’s eyes, something he hadn’t realised he’d been so desperately yearning for. It’s their past and their present and he wants it to be their future too.

He’s already won so much today, does he really deserve to win this too?

For once, he doesn’t think. He doesn’t doubt. He focuses on those dark grey eyes then rises up, his hands curling around the back of Shiro’s neck and pulling him into a kiss. He feels Shiro hesitate in surprise but then Shiro’s arm curls around him. Both of them. He feels the metal of Shiro’s prosthetic against his back and he kisses Shiro harder, unheeding of the sudden attention turned on them, of the camera lights flashing, the crowd cheering, the spray of champagne on their skin.

“I never told you before,” he shudders, resting his forehead against Shiro’s, his hands still curled around Shiro’s nape when they break apart for air.  “And I should have. That day in the hospital. I should have told you.”

His eyes are suddenly wet, he tries to blink but they’re still blurry. “Tell me now,” Shiro whispers roughly and Keith pulls back enough to meet his gaze. His hand slides to cup his check, Shiro’s faint stubble on his jaw warm under Keith’s palm.

“Shiro, I love you. With all my heart.”

The cheers and hoots of the crowd fades back in and Lance suddenly appears to throw his arms around both of them. Keith can’t tell if his cheeks are wet from the champagne spray or something else but they’ll pulled to the top of the podium, Shiro on one side, Lance on the other as they give a final wave to the crowd and pose for a few more photos.

Shiro kisses him, right there in front of the entire world.  “I love you too, baby.”

 

* * *

 

**Epilogue**

In the off season, they talk about getting engaged but Shiro is reluctant to turn any more attention away from Keith’s racing so they agree to hold off for a while. Shiro still wears the ring Keith gives him though, calling it a prelude to a promise.

Keith just calls it a promise.

Allura’s divorce from Lotor is finalized and Lotor takes his deep pockets with him. Allura has enough of a settlement to survive the year but until they can pull more sponsors, the team is running on fumes. Keith and Lance both take significant pay cuts, and it becomes a story in the media in itself.

They don’t struggle for sponsors after that.

Lance and Keith build on their working relationship. They’ll never be friends but they find a way to respect each other. Lance tones down his playboy ways, alluding to someone stealing his heart in interviews. Allura stands in the background with a slight frown, until her cheeks go pink in realization.

Lance doesn’t ask anything more than she’s ready to give.

The private plane waits for them on the tarmac. They’ve joined forces with the Blade team, sharing travel costs and a few tweaks and upgrades. It makes sense to have an ally in the competition as fierce as it gets. Lance and Allura and the rest of the team are already onboard but Shiro waits by the small staircase leading into the plane.

The smell of jet fuel whips by on the wind as Keith jogs towards him.

“Hey, champ,” Shiro greets him with the soft smile he keeps only for Keith. He slings an arm around Keith’s shoulder and presses a kiss to his temple.  “Ready for a new season?”

“You bet,” Keith grins and they turn to climb aboard the plane to join the others.

It’s a new season, new race and a new title to defend, but Shiro smiles at him and Keith’s heart soars.

He’s already won.

 

* * *

 

art by [sealightly](https://sealightly.tumblr.com/post/175452602811/commission-for-flashedarrow-of-their-sheith-f1)

   

 

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! Please let me know if you enjoyed this fic, it holds a special place in my heart and I'm so happy to finally get it out of my system. You can find me on tumblr [ [here] ](http://flashedarrow.tumblr.com/)


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